_T 

B* 

,>:;* 

^f^ 


1$!, 
,. 

>"*     + 


JBV^'-' !  '$ 

'  "*43 


«• 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

Gift  of 
Ephraim  Kahn 


^L 


^  ^  ">          % 

V  /Y-'  >. 


f 


: 


..•I 


TALES 


OP 


A    TRAVELLER, 


BY  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT. 

AUTHOR    OF     "  THE    SKETCH    BOOK,"     "  BRACEBRIDGE     HALL,*' 

"  KNICKERBOCKER'S  NEW- YORK."  &c. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
M.  C.  CAREY  &  I.  LEA,  CHESNUT-STREET, 

1824. 


Southern  District  of  New- York,  ss. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  twenty-second  day  of  July. 
A.D.  1824,  in  the  forty-ninth  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  C.  S.  Van  Winkle,  of  the  said  district,  hath  de- 
posited in  this  office  the  title  of  a  book,  the  right  whereof  he 
claims  as  proprietor,  in  the  words  following,  to  wit: 

"  Tales  of  a  Traveller,  Part  1.  By  Geoffrey  Crayon,  Gent.  Au- 
thor of  "  The  Sketch  Book,"  "  Bracebridge  Hall,"  «'  Knickerbocker's 
New- York,"  &,c. 

IN  CONFORMITY  to  the  act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
entitled,  "  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing 
the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  pro- 
prietors of  such  copies,  during  the  time  therein  mentioned  j"  and 
also,  to  an  act  entitled,  "  An  act  supplementary  to  an  act,  enti- 
tled, an  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the 
copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors 
of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,"  and  extend- 
ing the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and 
etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

JAMES  DILL, 
Clerk  of  the  Southern  District  of  New-York, 


Printed  by  C.  S.  Van  Winkle, 
No.  2  Thames-street,  New-York. 


CONTENTS  OF  PART  I. 


Page 
STRANGE  STORIES,  BY  A  NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN 5 

A  Hunting  Dinner, 9 

The  Adventure  of  My  Uncle, 19 

The  Adventure  of  My  Aunt, .45 

The  Bold  Dragoon,  or  The  Adventure  of  My  Grandfather, .  .  55 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Picture, 73 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Stranger, 91 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Italian, 109 


STRANGE  STORIES. 


BY  A  NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN. 


I'll  tell  you  more;  there  was  a  fish  taken, 

A  monstrous  fish,  with  a  sword  by's  side,  a  long  sword, 

A  pike  in's  neck,  and  a  gun  in's  nose,  a  huge  gun. 

And  letters  of  mart  in's  mouth,  from  the  Duke  of  Florence. 

Cleanthes.     This  is  a  monstrous  lie. 

Tony.     I  do  confess  it. 
Do  you  think  I'd  tell  you  truths  ? 

FLETCHER'S  WIFE  FOR  A 


PART  T. 


[The  following  adventures  were  related  to  me  by 
the  same  nervous  gentleman  who  told  me  the  romantic 
tale  of  THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN,  published  in  Brace- 
bridge  Hall. 

It  is  very  singular,  that  although  I  expressly  stated 
that  story  to  have  been  told  to  me,  and  described  the 
very  person  who  told  it,  still  it  has  been  received  as  an 
adventure  that  happened  to  myself.  Now,  I  protest  I 
never  met  with  any  adventure  of  the  kind.  I  should 
not  have  grieved  at  this,  had  it  not  been  intimated  by 
the  author  of  Waverly,  in  an  introduction  to  his  ro- 
mance of  Peverilof  the  Peak,  that  he  was  himself  the 
Stout  Gentleman  alluded  to.  I  have  ever  since  been 
importuned  by  questions  and  letters  from  gentlemen, 
and  particularly  from  ladies  without  number,  touching 
what  I  had  seen  of  the  great  unknown. 

Now,  all  this  is  extremely  tantalizing.  It  is  like  be- 
ing congratulated  on  the  high  prize  when  one  has  drawn 
a  blank ;  for  I  have  just  as  great  a  desire  as  any  one  of 
the  public  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  that  very  singu- 
lar personage,  whose  voice  fills  every  corner  of  the 
world,  without  any  one  being  able  to  tell  from  whence 
it  comes.  He  who  keeps  up  such  a  wonderful  and 


8 

whimsical  incognito :  whom  nobody  knows,  and  yet 
whom  every  body  thinks  he  can  swear  to. 

My  friend,  the  nervous  gentleman,  also,  who  is  a  man 
of  very  shy  retired  habits,  complains  that  he  has  been 
excessively  annoyed  in  consequence  of  its  getting  about 
in  his  neighbourhood  that  he  is  the  fortunate  personage. 
Insomuch,  that  he  has  become  a  character  of  conside- 
rable notoriety  in  two  or  three  country  towns ;  and  has 
been  repeatedly  teased  to  exhibit  himself  at  blue  stock- 
ing parties,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  of  being  "  the 
gentleman  who  has  had  a  glimpse  of  the  author  of 
Waverly." 

Indeed,  the  poor  man  has  grown  ten  times  as  nervous 
as  ever,  since  he  has  discovered,  on  such  good  autho- 
rity, who  the  stout  gentleman  was  ;  and  will  never  for- 
give himself  for  not  having  made  a  more  resolute  effort 
to  get  a  full  sight  of  him.  He  has  anxiously  endeav- 
oured to  call  up  a  recollection  of  what  he  saw  of  that 
portly  personage  ;  and  has  ever  since  kept  a  curi- 
ous eye  on  all  gentlemen  of  more  than  ordinary  dimen- 
sions, whom  he  has  seen  getting  into  stage  coaches. 
All  in  vain  !  The  features  he  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
seem  common  to  the  whole  race  of  stout  gentlemen  ; 
and  the  great  unknown  remains  as  great  an  unknown 
as  ever.] 


A  HUNTING  DINNER. 


I  WAS  once  at  a  hunting  dinner,  given  by  a 
worthy  fox-hunting  old  Baronet,  who  kept  Bach- 
elor's Hall  in  jovial  style,  in  an  ancient  rook- 
haunted  family  mansion,  in  one  of  the  middle 
counties.  He  had  been  a  devoted  admirer  of  the 
fair  sex  in  his  young  days  ;  but  having  travelled 
much,  studied  the  sex  in  various  countries  with 
distinguished  success,  and  returned  home  pro- 
foundly instructed,  as  he  supposed,  in  the  ways 
of  woman,  and  a  perfect  master  of  the  art  of 
pleasing,  he  had  the  mortification  of  being  jilted 
by  a  little  boarding  school  girl,  who  was  scarcely 
versed  in  the  accidence  of  love. 

The  Baronet  was  completely  overcome  by 
such  an  incredible  defeat ;  retired  from  the  world 
in  disgust,  put  himself  under  the  government  of 
his  housekeeper,  and  took  to  fox  hunting  like  a 
perfect  Jehu.  Whatever  poets  may  say  to  the 


10  A  HUNTING  DINNER. 

contrary,  a  man  will  grow  out  of  love  as  he 
grows  old  ;  and  a  pack  of  fox  hounds  may  chase 
out  of  his  heart  even  the  memory  of  a  boarding 
school  goddess.  The  Baronet  was  when  I  saw 
him  as  merry  and  mellow  an  old  bachelor  as 
ever  followed  a  hound  ;  and  the  love  he  had  once 
felt  for  one  woman  had  spread  itself  over  the 
whole  sex ;  so  that  there  was  not  a  pretty  face 
in  the  whole  country  round,  but  came  in  for  a 
share. 

The  dinner  was  prolonged  till  a  late  hour ; 
for  our  host  having  .no  ladies  in  his  household 
to  summon  us  to  the  drawing  room,  the  bottle 
maintained  its  true  bachelor  sway,  unrivalled  by 
its  potent  enemy  the  tea-kettle.  The  old  hall 
in  which  we  dined  echoed  to  bursts  of  robustious 
fox  hunting  merriment,  that  made  the  ancient 
antlers  shake  on  the  walls.  By  degrees,  how- 
ever, the  wine  and  wassail  of  mine  host  began 
to  operate  upon  bodies  already  a  little  jaded  by 
the  chase.  The  choice  spirits  that  flashed  up  at 
the  beginning  of  the  dinner,  sparkled  for  a  time, 
then  gradually  went  out  one  after  another,  or 


A  HUNTING  DINNER.  11 

only  emitted  now  and  then  a  faint  gleam  from 
the  socket.  Some  of  the  briskest  talkers*  who 
had  given  tongue  so  bravely  at  the  first  burst,  fell 
fast  asleep ;  and  none  kept  on  their  way  but 
certain  of  those  long-winded  prosers,  who,  like 
short  legged  hounds,  worry  on  unnoticed  at  the 
bottom  of  conversation,  but  are  sure  to  be  in  at 
the  death.  Even  these  at  length  subsided  into 
silence ;  and  scarcely  any  thing  was  heard  but 
the  nasal  communications  of  two  or  three  vete- 
ran masticators,  who,  having  been  silent  while 
awake,  were  indemnifying  the  company  in  their 
sleep. 

At  length  the  announcement  of  tea  and  coffee 
in  the  cedar  parlour  roused  all  hands  from  this 
temporary  torpor.  Every  one  awoke  marvellous- 
ly renovated,  and  while  sipping  the  refreshing 
beverage  out  of  the  Baronet's  old-fashioned  he- 
reditary china,  began  to  think  of  departing  for 
their  several  homes.  But  here  a  sudden  difficul- 
ty arose.  While  we  had  been  prolonging  our 
repast,  a  heavy  winter  storm  had  set  in,  with 
snow,  rain,  and  sleet,  driven  by  such  bitter  blasts 


12  A  HUNTING  DINNER' 

of  wind,  that  they  threatened  to  penetrate  to  the 
very  bone. 

"  It's  all  in  vain,"  said  our  hospitable  host, 
"  to  think  of  putting  one's  head  out  of  doors  in 
such  weather.  So,  gentlemen,  I  hold  you  my 
guests  for  this  night  at  least,  and  will  have  your 
quarters  prepared  accordingly." 

The  unruly  weather,  which  became  more  and 
more  tempestuous,  rendered  the  hospitable  sug- 
gestion unanswerable.  The  only  question  was, 
whether  such  an  unexpected  accession  of  compa- 
ny, to  an  already  crowded  house,  would  not  put 
the  housekeeper  to  her  trumps  to  accommodate 
them. 

"  Pshaw,"  cried  mine  host,  "  did  you  ever 
know  of  a  Bachelor's  Hall  that  was  not  elastic, 
and  able  to  accommodate  twice  as  many  as  it 
could  hold  ?'?  So  out  of  a  good  humoured  pique 
the  housekeeper  was  summoned  to  consultation 
before  us  all.  The  old  lady  appeared,  in  her  gala 
suit  of  faded  brocade,  which  rustled  with  flurry 
and  agitation,  for  in  spite  of  mine  host's  bravado, 
she  was  a  little  perplexed.  But  in  a  bachelor's 


A  HUNTING  DINNER.  18 

house,  and  with  bachelor  guests,  these  matters 
are  readily  managed.  There  is  no  lady  of  the 
house  to  stand  upon  squeamish  points  about 
lodging  guests  in  odd  holes  and  corners,  and  ex- 
posing the  shabby  parts  of  the  establishment.  A 
bachelor's  housekeeper  is  used  to  shifts  and  emer- 
gencies. After  much  worrying  to  and  fro ;  and 
divers  consultations  about  the  red  room,  and  the 
blue  room,  and  the  chintz  room,  and  the  damask 
room,  and  the  little  room  with  the  bow  window, 
the  matter  was  finally  arranged. 

When  all  this  was  done,  we  were  once  more 
summoned  to  the  standing  rural  amusement  of 
eating.  The  time  that  had  been  consumed  in 
dozing  after  dinner,  and  in  the  refreshment  and 
consultation  of  the  cedar  parlour,  was  sufficient, 
in  the  opinion  of  the  rosy-faced  butler,  to  engen- 
der a  reasonable  appetite  for  supper.  A  slight 
repast  had  therefore  been  tricked  up  from  the  re- 
sidue of  dinner,  consisting  of  a  cold  sirloin  of  beef; 
hashed  venison  ;  a  devilled  leg  of  a  turkey  or  so, 
and  a  few  other  of  those  light  articles  taken  by 

PART  I.  3 


14  A  HUNTING  DINNER. 

country  gentlemen  to  ensure  sound  sleep   and 
heavy  snoring. 

The  nap  after  dinner  had  brightened  up  every 
one's  wit ;  and  a  great  deal  of  excellent  humour 
was  expended  upon  the  perplexities  of  mine  host 
and  his  housekeeper,  by  certain  married  gentle- 
men of  the  company,  who  considered  themselves 
privileged  in  joking  with  a  bachelor's  establish- 
ment. From  this  the  banter  turned  as  to  what 
quarters  each  would  find,  on  being  thus  suddenly 
billeted  in  so  antiquated  a  mansion. 

"  By  my  soul,"  said  an  Irish  captain  of  dra- 
goons, one  of  the  most  merry  and  boisterous  of 
the  party — "  by  my  soul,  but  I  should  not  be  sur- 
prised if  some  of  those  good-looking  gentlefolks 
that  hang  along  the  walls,  should  walk  about  the 
rooms  of  this  stormy  night ;  or  if  I  should  find 
the  ghost  of  one  of  these  long-waisted  ladies  turn- 
ing into  my  bed  in  mistake  for  her  grave  in  the 
church-yard." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  then  ?"  said  a  thin 
hatchet-faced  gentleman,  with  projecting  eyes 
Jike  a  lobster. 


A  HUNTING  DINNER.  15 

I  had  remarked  this  last  personage  throughout 
dinner  time  for  one  of  those  incessant  questioners, 
who  seem  to  have  a  craving,  unhealthy,  appetite 
in  conversation.  He  never  seemed  satisfied  with 
the  whole  of  a  story  ;  never  laughed  when  others 
laughed  ;  but  always  put  the  joke  to  the  ques- 
tion. He  could  never  enjoy  the  kernel  of  the 
nut,  but  pestered  himself  to  get  more  out  of  the 
shell. 

"  Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  then  ?"  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  Faith,  but  I  do,"  replied  the  jovial  Irishman; 
"  I  was  brought  up  in  the  fear  and  belief  of  them: 
we  had  a  Benshee  in  our  own  family,  honey." 

"  A  Benshee — and  what's  that  ?"  cried  the 
questioner. 

"  Why  an  old  lady  ghost  that  tends  upon  your 
real  Milesian  families,  and  wails  at  their  window 
to  let  them  know  when  some  of  them  are  to  die." 

"  A  mighty  pleasant  piece  of  information/7 
cried  an  elderly  gentleman,  with  a  knowing  look 
and  a  flexible  nose,  to  which  he  could  give  a 
whimsical  twist  when  he  wished  to  be  wraggish. 


16  A  HUNTING  DINNER. 

"  By  my  souL  but  I'd  have  you  know  it's  a 
piece  of  distinction  to  be  waited  upon  by  a  Ben- 
shee.  It's  a  proof  that  one  has  pure  blood  in 
one's  veins.  But,  egad,  now  we're  talking  of 
ghosts,  there  never  was  a  house  or  a  night  better 
fitted  than  the  present  for  a  ghost  adventure. 
Faith,  Sir  John,  have'nt  you  such  a  thing  as  a 
haunted  chamber  to  put  a  guest  in?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Baronet  smiling,  "  I 
might  accommodate  you  even  on  that  point." 

<c  Oh,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  my  jewel. 
Some  dark  oaken  room,  with  ugly  wro-begone 
portraits  that  stare  dismally  at  one,  and  about 
which  the  housekeeper  has  a  power  of  delightful 
stories  of  love  and  murder.  And  then  a  dim 
lamp,  a  table  with  a  rusty  sword  across  it,  and  a 
spectre  all  in  white  to  draw  aside  one's  curtains 
at  midnight" 

"  In  truth,"  said  an  old  gentleman  at  one  end 
of  the  table,  "  you  put  me  in  mind  of  an  anec- 
dote"  

"  Oh,  a  ghost  story  !  a  ghost  story  !"  was  vo- 


A  HUNTING  DINNER.  17 

ciferated  round  the  board,  every  one  edging  his 
chair  a  little  nearer. 

The  attention  of  the  whole  company  was  now 
turned  upon  the  speaker.  He  was  an  old  gen- 
tleman, one  side  of  whose  face  was  no  match  for 
the  other.  The  eyelid  drooped  and  hung  down 
like  an  unhinged  window  shutter.  Indeed,  the 
whole  side  of  his  head  was  dilapidated,  and 
seemed  like  the  wing  of  a  house  shut  up  and 
haunted.  I'll  warrant  that  side  was  well  stuffed 
with  ghost  stories. 

There  was  a  universal  demand  for  the  tale. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  it's  a  mere 
anecdote — and  a  very  commonplace  one  ;  but 
such  as  it  is  you  shall  have  it.  It  is  a  story  that  I 
once  heard  my  uncle  tell  when  I  was  a  boy.  But 
whether  as  having  happened  to  himself  or  to  ano- 
ther, I  cannot  recollect.  But  no  matter,  it's  very 
likely  it  happened  to  himself,  for  he  was  a  man 
very  apt  to  meet  with  strange  adventures.  I 
have  heard  him  tell  of  others  much  more  singu- 
lar. At  any  rate,  we  will  suppose  it  happened 
to  himself." 


18  A  HUNTING  DINNER. 

"  What  kind  of  man  was  your  uncle  ?"  said 
the  questioning  gentleman. 

"  Why,  he  was  rather  a  dry,  shrewd  kind  of 
body  ;  a  great  traveller,  and  fond  of  telling  his 
adventures." 

"  Pray,  how  old  might  he  have  been  when  this 
happened  ?" 

"  When  what  happened  ?"  cried  the  gentleman 
with  the  flexible  nose,  impatiently — "  Egad,  you 
have  not  given  any  thing  a  chance  to  happen — 
come,  never  mind  our  uncle's  age ;  let  us  have 
his  adventures." 

The  inquisitive  gentleman  being  for  the  mo- 
ment silenced,  the  old  gentleman  with  the  haunt- 
ed head  proceeded. 


THE 
ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 


MANY  years  since,  a  long  time  before  the 
French  revolution,  my  uncle  had  passed  several 
months  at  Paris.  The  English  and  French 
were  on  better  terms,  in  those  days,  than  at  pre- 
sent, and  mingled  cordially  together  in  society. 
The  English  went  abroad  to  spend  money  then, 
and  the  French  were  always  ready  to  help  them  : 
they  go  abroad  to  save  money  at  present,  and 
that  they  can  do  without  French  assistance. 
Perhaps  the  travelling  English  were  fewer  and 
choicer  then,  than  at  present,  when  the  whole 
nation  has  broke  loose,  and  inundated  the  con- 
tinent. At  any  rate,  they  circulated  more  readily 
and  currently  in  foreign  society,  and  my  uncle, 
during  his  residence  at  Paris,  made  many  very 
intimate  acquaintances  among  the  French  no- 
blesse. 


20      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  Mlr  UNCLE. 

Some  time  afterwards,  he  was  making  a  jour- 
ney in  the  winter  time,  in  that  part  of  Norman- 
dy called  the  Pays  de  Caux,  when,  as  evening 
was  closing  in,  he  perceived  the  turrets  of  an 
ancient  chateau  rising  out  of  the  trees  of  its 
walled  park,  each  turret  with  its  high  conical 
roof  of  gray  slate,  like  a  candle  with  an  extin- 
guisher on  it. 

"  To  whom  does  that  chateau  belong,  friend  ?" 
cried  my  uncle  to  a  meagre  but  fiery  postillion, 
who,  with  tremendous  jack  boots  and  cocked 
hat,  was  floundering  on  before  him. 

"  To  Monseigneur  the  Marquis  de " 

said  the  postillion,  touching  his  hat,  partly  out  of 
respect  to  my  uncle,  and  partly  out  of  reverence 
to  the  noble  name  pronounced.  My  uncle  recol- 
lected the  Marquis  for  a  particular  friend  in 
Paris,  who  had  often  expressed  a  wish  to  see 
him  at  his  paternal  chateau.  My  uncle  was  an 
old  traveller,  one  that  knew  how  to  turn  things 
to  account.  He  revolved  for  a  few  moments  in 
his  mind  how  agreeable  it  would  be  to  his  friend 
the  Marquis  to  be  surprised  in  this  sociable  way 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

by  a  pop  visit ;  and  how  much  more  agreeable 
to  himself  to  get  into  snug  quarters  in  a  chateau, 
and  have  a  relish  of  the  Marquis's  well-known 
kitchen,  and  a  smack  of  his  superior  champagne 
and  burgundy ;  rather  than  take  up  with  the 
miserable  lodgement,  and  miserable  fare  of  a 
country  inn.  In  a  few  minutes,  therefore,  the 
meagre  postillion  was  cracking  his  whip  like  a 
very  devil,  or  like  a  true  Frenchman,  up  the 
long  straight  avenue  that  led  to  the  chateau. 

You  have  no  doubt  all  seen  French  chateaus^ 
as  every  body  travels  in  France  now-a-days. 
This  was  one  of  the  oldest ;  standing  naked  and 
alone,  in  the  midst  of  a  desert  of  gravel  walks 
and  cold  stone  terraces ;  with  a  cold  looking 
formal  garden,  cut  into  angles  and  rhomboids ; 
and  a  cold  leafless  park,  divided  geometrically 
by  straight  alleys;  and  two  or  three  noseless 
cold  looking  statues  without  any  clothing ;  and 
fountains  spouting  cold  water  enough  to  make 
one's  teeth  chatter.  At  least,  such  was  the  feeling 
they  imparted  on  the  wintry  day  of  my  uncle's 
visit ;  though,  in  hot  summer  weather,  I'll  war- 

PART  I.  4 


22  THE  ADVEJNTURE  OF  MY  U^JCLE. 

rant  there  was  glare  enough  to  scorch  one's  eyes 
out. 

The  smacking  of  the  postillion's  whip,  which 
grew  more  and  more  intense  the  nearer  they 
approached,  frightened  a  flight  of  pigeons  out  of 
the  dove  cote,  and  rooks  out  of  the  roofs ;  and 
finally  a  crew  of  servants  out  of  the  chateau, 
with  the  Marquis  at  their  head.  He  was  en- 
chanted to  see  my  uncle  ;  for  his  chateau,  like  the 
house  of  our  worthy  host,  had  not  many  more 
guests  at  the  time  than  it  could  accommodate. 
So  he  kissed  my  uncle  on  each  cheek,  after  the 
French  fashion,  and  ushered  him  into  the  castle. 

The  Marquis  did  the  honours  of  his  house 
with  the  urbanity  of  his  country.  In  fact,  he 
was  proud  of  his  old  family  chateau ;  for  part 
of  it  was  extremely  old.  There  was  a  tower 
and  chapel  that  had  been  built  almost  before  the 
memory  of  man  ;  but  the  rest  was  more  modern ; 
the  castle  having  been  nearly  demolished  during 
the  wars  of  the  League.  The  Marquis  dwelt 
upon  this  event  with  great  satisfaction,  and  seem- 
ed really  to  entertain  a  grateful  feeling  towards 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      23 

Henry  IV.,  for  having  thought  his  paternal  man- 
sion worth  battering  down.     He  had  many  sto- 
nes to  tell  of  the  prowess  of  his  ancestors,  and 
several  skull  caps,  helmets  and  cross  bows  to 
show;  and  divers  huge  boots  and  buff  jerkins, 
that  had  been  worn  by  the  Leaguers.     Above 
all,  there  was  a  two  handled  sword,  which  he 
could  hardly  wield  ;  but  which  he  displayed  as 
a  proof  that  there  had  been  giants  in  his  family. 
In  truth,  he  was  but  a  small  descendant  from 
such  great  warriors.     When  you  looked  at  their 
bluff  visages  and  brawny  limbs,  as  depicted  in 
their  portraits,  and  then  at  the  little  Marquis, 
with  his   spindle  shanks ;  his  sallow  lanthern 
visage,  flanked  with  a  pair  of  powdered  ear-locks, 
or  ailes  de  pigeon,  that  seemed  ready  to  fly  away 
with  it ;  you  would  hardly  believe  him  to  be  of 
the  same  race.     But  when  you  looked  at  the 
eyes  that  sparkled  out  like  a  beetle's  from  each 
.side  of  his  hooked  nose,  you  saw  at  once  that 
he  inherited  all  the  fiery  spirit  of  his  forefathers. 
In  fact,  a  Frenchman's  spirit  never  exhales,  how- 
ever his  body  may  dwindle.     It  rather  rarities. 


24      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

and  grows  more  inflammable,  as  the  earthy 
particles  diminish;  and  I  have  seen  valour 
enough  in  a  little  fiery  hearted  French  dwarf, 
to  have  furnished  out  a  tolerable  giant. 

When  once  the  .  Marquis,  as  he  was  wont, 
put  on  one  of  the  old  helmets  that  were  stuck 
up  in  his  hall ;  though  his  head  no  more  filled 
it  than  a  dry  pea  its  pease  cod  ;  yet  his  eyes 
sparkled  from  the  bottom  of  the  iron  cavern 
with  the  brilliancy  of  carbuncles ;  and  when  he 
poised  the  ponderous  two-handled  sword  of  his 
ancestors,  you  would  have  thought  you  saw  the 
doughty  little  David  wielding  the  sword  of  Go- 
liah,  which  was  unto  him  like  a  weaver's  beam. 

However,  gentlemen,  I  am  dwelling  too  long 
on  this  description  of  the  Marquis  and  his  cha- 
teau ;  but  you  must  excuse  me  ;  he  was  an  old 
friend  of  my  uncle's,  and  whenever  my  uncle  told 
the  story,  he  was  always  fond  of  talking  a  great 
deal  about  his  host. — Poor  little  Marquis !  He 
was  one  of  that  handful  of  gallant  courtiers,  who 
made  such  a  devoted,  but  hopeless  stand  in  the 
cause  of  their  sovereign,  in  the  chateau  of  the 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      25 

Tuilleries,  against  the  irruption  of  the  mob,  on 
the  sad  tenth  of  August.  He  displayed  the 
valour  of  a  preux  French  chevalier  to  the  last ; 
flourished  feebly  his  little  court  sword  with  a 
sa-sa  !  in  face  of  a  whole  legion  of  sans-culottes ; 
but  was  pinned  to  the  wall  like  a  butterfly,  by 
the  pike  of  a  poissarde,  and  his  heroic  soul  was 
borne  up  to  heaven  on  his  ailes  de  pigeon. 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  story : 
to  the  point  then  : — When  the  hour  arrived  for 
retiring  for  the  night,  my  uncle  was  shown  to 
his  room,  in  a  venerable  old  tower.  It  was  the 
oldest  part  of  the  chateau,  and  had  in  ancient 
times  been  the  Donjon  or  stronghold  ;  of  course 
the  chamber  was  none  of  the  best.  The  Mar- 
quis had  put  him  there,  however,  because  he 
knew  him  to  be  a  traveller  of  taste,  and  fond  of 
antiquities;  and  also  because  the  better  apart- 
ments were  already  occupied.  Indeed,  he  per- 
fectly reconciled  my  uncle  to  his  quarters  by 
mentioning  the  great  personages  who  had  once 
inhabited  them,  all  of  whom  were  in  some  way 
or  other  connected  with  the  family.  If  you 


26      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

would  take  his  word  for  it,  John  Baliol,  or  as 
he  called  him  Jean  de  Bailleul  had  died  of 
chagrin  in  this  very  chamber  on  hearing  of  the 
success  of  his  rival.  Robert  the  Bruce,  at  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn ;  and  when  he  added  that 
the  Duke  de  Guise  had  slept  in  it  during  the 
wars  of  the  League,  my  uncle  was  fain  to  felici- 
tate himself  upon  being  honoured  with  such 
distinguished  quarters. 

The  night  was  shrewd  and  windy,  and  the 
chamber  none  of  the  warmest.  An  old  long- 
faced,  long-bodied  servant  in  quaint  livery,  who 
attended  upon  my  uncle,  threw  down  an  armful 
of  wood  beside  the  fire  place,  gave  a  queer  look 
about  the  room,  and  then  wished  him  bon  repos, 
with  a  grimace  and  a  shrug  that  would  have 
been  suspicious  from  any  other  than  an  old 
French  servant.  The  chamber  had  indeed  a 
wild  crazy  look,  enough  to  strike  any  one  who 
had  read  romances  with  apprehension  and  fore- 
boding. The  windows  were  high  and  narrow, 
and  had  once  been  loop  holes,  but  had  been 
rudely  enlarged,  as  well  as  the  extreme  thick- 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      27 

ness  of  the  walls  would  permit ;  and  the  ill- 
fitted  casements  rattled  to  every  breeze.  You 
would  have  thought,  on  a  windy  night,  some 
of  the  old  Leaguers  were  tramping  and  clanking 
about  the  apartment  in  their  huge  boots  and 
rattling  spurs.  A  door  which  stood  ajar,  and 
like  a  true  French  door  would  stand  ajar,  in 
spite  of  every  reason  and  effort  to  the  contrary, 
opened  upon  a  long  dark  corridor,  that  led  the 
Lord  knows  whither,  and  seemed  just  made  for 
ghosts  to  air  themselves  in,  when  they  turned  out 
-  of  their  graves  at  midnight.  The  wind  would 
spring  up  into  a  hoarse  murmur  through  this 
passage,  and  creak  the  door  to  and  fro,  as  if  some 
dubious  ghost  were  balancing  in  its  mind  whe- 
ther to  come  in  or  not.  In  a  word,  it  was  pre- 
cisely the  kind  of  comfortless  apartment  that  a 
ghost,  if  ghost  there  were  in  the  chateau,  would 
single  out  for  its  favourite  lounge. 

My  uncle,  however,  though  a  man  accustomed 
to  meet  with  strange  adventures,  apprehended 
none  at  the  time.  He  made  several  attempts  to 
shut  ihe  door,  but  in  vain.  Not  that  he  appre- 


28      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

bended  any  thing,  for  he  was  too  old  a  traveller 
to  be  daunted  by  a  wild-looking  apartment ;  but 
the  night,  as  I  have  said,  was  cold  and  gusty, 
something  like  the  present,  and  the  wind  howled 
about  the  old  turret,  pretty  much  as  it  does  round 
this  old  mansion  at  this  moment ;  and  the  breeze 
from  the  long  dark  corridor  came  in  as  damp 
and  chilly  as  if  from  a  dungeon.  My  uncle, 
therefore,  since  he  could  not  close  the  door 
threw  a  quantity  of  wood  on  the  fire,  which  soon 
sent  up  a  flame  in  the  great  wide-mouthed  chim- 
ney that  illumined  the  whole  chamber,  and  made  " 
the  shadow7  of  the  tongs,  on  the  opposite  wall, 
look  like  a  long-legged  giant.  My  uncle  now 
clambered  on  top  of  the  half  score  of  mattresses 
which  form  a  French  bed,  and  which  stood  in  a 
deep  recess  ;  then  tucking  himself  snugly  in,  and 
burying  himself  up  to  the  chin  in  the  bed  clothes, 
he  lay  looking  at  the  fire,  and  listening  to  the 
wind,  and  chuckling  to  think  how  knowingly 
he  had  come  over  his  friend  the  Marquis  for  a 
night's  lodgings :  and  so  he  fell  asleep. 

He  had  not  taken  above  half  of  his  first  nap, 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      29 

when  he  was  awakened  by  the  clock  of  the  cha- 
teau, in  the  turret  over  his  chamber,  which 
struck  midnight.  It  was  just  such  an  old  clock 
as  ghosts  are  fond  of.  It  had  a  deep,  dismal 
tone,  and  struck  so  slowly  and  tediously  that 
my  uncle  thought  it  would  never  have  done. 
He  counted  and  counted  till  he  was  confident 
he  counted  thirteen,  and  then  it  stopped. 

The  fire  had  burnt  low,  and  the  blaze  of  the 
last  faggot  was  almost  expiring,  burning  in  small 
blue  flames,  which  now  and  then  lengthened  up 
into  little  white  gleams.  My  uncle  lay  with 
his  eyes  half  closed,  and  his  nightcap  drawn 
almost  down  to  his  nose.  His  fancy  was  al- 
ready wandering,  and  began  to  mingle  up  the 
present  scene  with  the  crater  of  Vesuvius,  the 
French  opera,  the  Coliseum  at  Rome,  Dolly's 
chop  house  in  London,  and  all  the  farrago  of 
noted  places  with  which  the  brain  of  a  traveller 
is  crammed — in  a  word,  he  was  just  falling  asleep. 

Suddenly  he  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of 
footsteps  that  appeared  to  be  slowly  pacing 
along  the  corridor.  My  uncle,  as  I  have  often 

PART  I.  5 


30      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

heard  him  say  himself,  was  a  man  not  easily 
frightened ;  so  he  lay  quiet,  supposing  that 
this  might  be  some  other  guest,  or  some  servant 
on  his  way  to  bed.  The  footsteps,  however, 
approached  the  door;  the  door  gently  opened  ; 
whether  of  its  own  accord,  or  whether  pushed 
open,  my  uncle  could  not  distinguish : — a  figure 
all  in  white  glided  in.  It  was  a  female,  tall 
and  stately  in  person,  and  of  a  most  command- 
ing air.  Her  dress  was  of  an  ancient  fashion, 
ample  in  volume  and  sweeping  the  floor.  She 
walked  up  to  the  fire-place  without  regarding 
my  uncle  ;  who  raised  his  nightcap  with  one 
hand,  and  stared  earnestly  at  her.  She  remain- 
ed for  some  time  standing  by  the  fire,  which 
flashing  up  at  intervals  cast  blue  and  white 
gleams  of  light  that  enabled  my  uncle  to  re- 
mark her  appearance  minutely. 

Her  face  was  ghastly  pale,  and  perhaps  ren- 
dered still  more  so  by  the  blueish  light  of  the 
fire.  It  possessed  beauty,  but  its  beauty  was 
saddened  by  care  and  anxiety.  There  was  the 
look  of  one  accustomed  to  trouble,  but  of  one 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      31 

whom  trouble  could  not  cast  down  nor  subdue  ; 
for  there  was  still  the  predominating  air  of 
proud,  unconquerable  resolution.  Such  at  least 
was  the  opinion  formed  by  my  uncle,  and  he 
considered  himself  a  great  physiognomist. 

The  figure  remained,  as  I  said,  for  some  time 
by  the  fire,  putting  out  first  one  hand,  then  the 
other,  then  each  foot  alternately,  as  if  warming 
itself;  for  your  ghosts,  if  ghost  it  really  was, 
are  apt  to  be  cold.  My  uncle  furthermore  re- 
marked that  it  wore  high  heeled  shoes,  after  an 
ancient  fashion,  with  paste  or  diamond  buckles, 
that  sparkled  as  though  they  were  alive.  At 
length  the  figure  turned  gently  round,  casting 
a  glassy  look  about  the  apartment,  which,  as  it 
passed  over  my  uncle,  made  his  blood  run  cold, 
and  chilled  the  very  marrow  in  his  bones.  It 
then  stretched  its  arms  toward  heaven,  clasped 
its  hands,  and  wringing  them  in  a  supplicating 
manner,  glided  slowly  out  of  the  room. 

My  uncle  lay  for  some  time  meditating  oa 
this  visitation,  for  (as  he  remarked  when  he 
told  me  the  story)  though  a  man  of  firmness^  he 


32      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

was  also  a  man  of  reflection,  and  did  not  reject 
a  thing  because  it  was  out  of  the  regular  course 
of  events.  However,  being  as  I  have  before 
said,  a  great  traveller,  and  accustomed  to  strange 
adventures,  he  drew  his  nightcap  resolutely 
over  his  eyes,  turned  his  back  to  the  door,  hoist- 
ed the  bed  clothes  high  over  his  shoulders,  and 
gradually  fell  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  could  not  say,  when  he 
was  awakened  by  the  voice  of  some  one  at  his  bed 
side.  He  turned  round  and  beheld  the  old  French 
servant,  with  his  ear  locks  in  tight  buckles  on 
each  side  of  a  long,  lanthorn  face,  on  which  habit 
had  deeply  wrinkled  an  everlasting  smile.  He 
made  a  thousand  grimaces  and  asked  a  thousand 
pardons  for  disturbing  Monsieur,  but  the  morning 
was  considerably  advanced.  While  my  uncle 
was  dressing,  he  called  vaguely  to  mind  the  visit- 
er  of  the  preceding  night.  He  asked  the  ancient  ^ 
domestic  what  lady  was  in  the  habit  of  rambling 
about  this  part  of  the  chateau  at  night.  The  old 
valet  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  high  as  his  head, 
laid  one  hand  on  his  bosom,  threw  open  the  other 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      35 

with  every  finger  extended ;  made  a  most  whim- 
sical grimace,  which  he  meant  to  be  complimen- 
tary : 

"  It  was  not  for  him  to  know  any  thing  of  les 
braves  fortunes  of  Monsieur." 

My  uncle  saw  there  was  nothing  satisfactory 
to  be  learnt  in  this  quarter. — After  breakfast  he 
was  walking  with  the  Marquis  through  the  mo- 
dern apartments  of  the  chateau  ;  sliding  over  the 
well  waxed  floors  of  silken  saloons,  amidst  fur- 
niture rich  in  gilding  and  brocade ;  until  they 
came  to  a  long  picture  gallery,  containing  many 
portraits,  some  in  oil  and  some  in  chalks. 

Here  was  an  ample  field  for  the  eloquence  of 
his  host,  who  had  all  the  family  pride  of  a  noble- 
man of  the  ancien  regime.  There  was  not  a  grand 
name  in  Normandy,  and  hardly  one  in  France, 
that  was  not,  in  some  way  or  other,  connected 
•with  his  house.  My  uncle  stood  listening  with 
inward  impatience,  resting  sometimes  on  one  leg, 
sometimes  on  the  other,  as  the  little  Marquis 
descanted,  with  his  usual  fire  and  vivacity,  on  the 
achievements  of  his  ancestors,  whose  portraits 


34  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

hung  along  the  wall ;  from  the  martial  deeds  of 
the  stern  warriors  in  steel,  to  the  gallantries  and 
intrigues  of  the  blue-eyed  gentlemen,  with  fair 
smiling  faces,  powdered  ear  locks,  laced  ruffles, 
and  pink  and  blue  silk  coats  and  breeches  ;  not 
forgetting  the  conquests  of  the  lovely  shepherd- 
esses, with  hoop  petticoats  and  waists  no  thicker 
than  an  hour  glass,  who  appeared  ruling  over 
their  sheep  and  their  swains  with  dainty  crooks 
decorated  with  fluttering  ribbands. 

In  the  midst  of  his  friend's  discourse  my  un- 
cle's eye  rested  on  a  full  length  portrait,  which 
struck  him  as  being  the  very  counterpart  of  his 
visiter  of  the  preceding  night. 

"  Methinks,"  said  he,  pointing  to  it,  "  I  have 
seen  the  original  of  this  portrait." 

"  Pardonnez  moi,"  replied  the  Marquis  polite- 
ly, "  that  can  hardly  be,  as  the  lady  has  been 
dead  more  than  a  hundred  years.  That  was  the 
beautiful  Duchess  de  Longueville,  who  figured 
during  the  minority  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth." 

"  And  was  there  any  thing  remarkable  in  her 
history?" 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      35 

Never  was  question  more  unlucky.  The  little 
Marquis  immediately  threw  himself  into  the  at- 
titude of  a  man  about  to  tell  a  long  story.  In 
fact,  my  uncle  had  pulled  upon  himself  the  whole 
history  of  the  civil  war  of  the  Fronde,  in  which 
the  beautiful  Duchess  had  played  so  distinguish- 
ed a  part.  Turenne,  Coligni,  Mazarin,  were 
called  up  from  their  graves  to  grace  his  nar- 
ration ;  nor  were  the  affairs  of  the  Barrica- 
does,  nor  the  chivalry  of  the  Pertcocheres  for- 
gotten. My  uncle  began  to  wish  himself  a  thou- 
sand leagues  off  from  the  Marquis  and  his  mer- 
ciless memory,  when  suddenly  the  little  man's 
recollections  took  a  more  interesting  turn.  He 
was  relating  the  imprisonment  of  the  Duke  de 
Longueville,  with  the  Princes  Conde  and  Conti, 
in  the  chateau  of  Vincennes,  and  the  ineffectual 
efforts  of  the  Duchess  to  rouse  the  sturdy  Nor- 
mans to  their  rescue.  He  had  come  to  that 
part  where  she  was  invested  by  the  royal  forces 
in  the  chateau  of  Dieppe,  and  in  imminent 
danger  of  falling  into  their  hands. 

"  The  spirit  of  the  Duchess,"  proceeded  the 


36  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

Marquis,  "  rose  with  her  trials.  It  was  astonish- 
ing to  see  so  delicate  and  beautiful  a  being  buffet 
so  resolutely  with  hardships.  She  determined 
on  a  desperate  means  of  escape.  One  dark  un- 
ruly night,  she  issued  secretly  out  of  a  small 
postern  gate  of  the  castle,  which  the  enemy  had 
neglected  to  guard.  She  was  followed  by  her 
female  attendants,  a  few  domestics,  and  some  gab- 
lant  cavaliers  wrho  still  remained  faithful  to  her 
fortunes.  Her  object  was  to  gain  a  small  port 
about  two  leagues  distant,  where  she  had  private- 
ly provided  a  vessel  for  her  escape  in  case  of 
emergency. 

The  little  band  of  fugitives  were  obliged  to 
perform  the  distance  on  foot.  When  they  ar- 
rived at  the  port  the  wind  was  high  and  stormy, 
the  tide  contrary,  the  vessel  anchored  far  off  in 
the  road,  and  no  means  of  getting  on  board,  but 
by  a  fishing  shallop  that  lay  tossing  like  a  cockle 
shell  on  the  edge  of  the  surf.  The  Duchess 
determined  to  risk  the  attempt.  The  seamen 
endeavoured  to  dissuade  her,  but  the  imminence 
of  her  danger  on  shore,  and  the  magnanimity  of 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      37 

her  spirit  urged  her  on.  She  had  to  be  borne  to 
the  shallop  in  the  arms  of  a  mariner.  Such  was 
the  violence  of  the  wind  and  waves,  that  he  fal- 
tered, lost  his  foothold,  and  let  his  precious  bur- 
then fall  into  the  sea. 

"  The  Duchess  was  nearly  drowned ;  but  partly 
through  her  own  struggles,  partly  by  the  exertions 
of  the  seamen,  she  got  to  land.  As  soon  as  she 
had  a  little  recovered  strength,  she  insisted  on  re- 
newing the  attempt.  The  storm,  however,  had 
by  this  time  become  so  violent  as  to  set  all  efforts 
at  defiance.  To  delay,  was  to  be  discovered  and 
taken  prisoner.  As  the  only  resource  left,  she 
procured  horses ;  mounted  with  her  female  at- 
tendants en  croupe  behind  the  gallant  gentlemen 
who  accompanied  her  ;  and  scoured  the  country 
to  seek  some  temporary  asylum. 

"  While  the  Duchess,"  continued  the  Marquis, 
laying  his  forefinger  on  my  uncle's  breast  to  arouse 
his  flagging  attention,  "  while  the  Duchess,  poor 
lady,  was  wandering  amid  the  tempest  in  this  dis- 
consolate manner,  she  arrived  at  this  chateau. 
Her  approach  caused  some  uneasiness ;  for  tfre 

PART  I.  r> 


38      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE, 

clattering  of  a  troop  of  horse,  at  dead  of  night,  up 
the  avenue  of  a  lonely  chateau,  in  those  unsettled 
times,  and  in  a  troubled  part  of  the  country,  was 
enough  to  occasion  alarm. 

"  A  tall,  broad-shouldered  chasseur,  armed  to 
the  teeth,  gallopped  ahead,  and  announced  the 
name  of  the  visiter.  All  uneasiness  was  dispel- 
led. The  household  turned  out  with  flambeaux 
to  receive  her,  and  never  did  torches  gleam  on  a 
more  weather-beaten,  travel-stained  band  than 
came  tramping  into  the  court.  Such  pale,  care- 
worn faces,  such  bedraggled  dresses,  as  the  poor 
Duchess  and  her  females  presented,  each  seated 
behind  her  cavalier;  while  half  drenched,  half 
drowsy  pages  and  attendants,  seemed  ready  to 
fall  from  their  horses  with  sleep  and  fatigue. 

"  The  Duchess  was  received  with  a  hearty 
welcome  by  my  ancestor.  She  was  ushered  in- 
to the  Hall  of  the  chateau,  and  the  fires  soon 
crackled  and  blazed  to  cheer  herself  and  her  train; 
and  every  spit  and  stewpan  was  put  in  requisition 
to  prepare  ample  refreshments  for  the  wayfarers. 

"  She  had  a  right  to  our  hospitalities,'7  con- 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      39 

tinued  the  little  Marquis,  drawing  himself  up 
with  a  slight  degree  of  stateliness,  u  for  she  was 
related  to  our  family.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was: 
Her  father,  Henry  de  Bourbon,  Prince  of  Con- 
de" 

"But  did  the  Duchess  pass  the  night  in  the 
chateau  ?"  said  my  uncle  rather  abruptly,  terri- 
fied at  the  idea  of  getting  involved  in  one  of  the 
Marquis's  genealogical  discussions. 

"  Oh,  as  to  the  Duchess,  she  was  put  into  the 
apartment  you  occupied  last  night ;  which,  at  that 
time,  was  a  kind  of  state  apartment.  Her  fol- 
lowers were  quartered  in  the  chambers  opening 
upon  the  neighbouring  corridor,  and  her  favourite 
page  slept  in  an  adjoining  closet.  Up  and  down 
the  corridor  walked  the  great  chasseur,  who  had 
announced  her  arrival,  and  who  acted  as  a  kind 
of  sentinel  or  guard.  He  was  a  dark,  stern, 
powerful  looking  fellow,  and  as  the  light  of  a 
lamp  in  the  corridor  fell  upon  his  deeply  marked 
face  and  sinewy  form,  he  seemed  capable  of  de- 
fending the  castle  with  his  single  arm. 

"  It  was  a  rough,  rude  night ;  about  this  time 


40      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

of  the  year. — Apropos — now  I  think  of  it,  last 
night  was  the  anniversary  of  her  visit.  I  may 
well  remember  the  precise  date,  for  it  was  a  night 
not  to  be  forgotten  by  our  house.  There  is  a 
singular  tradition  concerning  it  in  our  family." 
Here  the  Marquis  hesitated,  and  a  cloud  seemed 
to  gather  about  his  bushy  eyebrows.  "  There  is 
a  tradition — that  a  strange  occurrence  took  place 
that  night — a  strange,  mysterious,  inexplicable 
occurrence." 

Here  he  checked  himself  and  paused. 

"  Did  it  relate  to  that  Lady  ?"  inquired  my  un- 
cle, eagerly. 

"  It  was  past  the  hour  of  midnight,"  resumed 
the  Marquis — "  when  the  whole  chateau " 

Here  he  paused   again — my   uncle   made  a 
movement  of  anxious  curiosity. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  Marquis — a  slight  blush 
streaking  his  sullen  visage.  "  There  are  some 
circumstances  connected  with  our  family  history 
which  I  do  not  like  to  relate.  That  was  a  rude 
period.  A  time  of  great  crimes  among  great 
men :  for  you  know  high  blood,  when  it  runs 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      41 

wrong,  will  not  run  tamely  like  blood  of  the 
canaille — poor  lady ! — But  I  have  a  little  family 
pride,  that— excuse  me — we  will  change  the  sub- 
ject if  you  please." — 

My  uncle's  curiosity  was  piqued.  The  pom- 
pous and  magnificent  introduction  had  led  him 
to  expect  something  wonderful  in  the  story  to 
which  it  served  as  a  kind  of  avenue.  He  had  no 
idea  of  being  cheated  out  of  it  by  a  sudden  fit  of 
unreasonable  squeamishness.  Besides,  being  a 
traveller,  in  quest  of  information,  he  considered 
it  his  duty  to  inquire  into  every  thing. 

The  Marquis,  however,  evaded  every  ques- 
tion. 

"Well,"  said  my  uncle,  a  little  petulantly, 
"  whatever  you  may  think  of  it,  I  saw  that  lady 
last  night." 

The  Marquis  stepped  back  and  gazed  at  him 
with  surprise. 

"  She  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  bed  chamber." 

The  Marquis  pulled  out  his  snuff-box  with  a 
shrug  and  a  smile  ;  taking  it  no  doubt  for  an 
awkward  piece  of  English  pleasantry,  which 


42      THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 

politeness  required  him  to  be  charmed  with. 
My  uncle  went  on  gravely,  however,  and  related 
the  whole  circumstance.  The  Marquis  heard 
him  through  with  profound  attention,  holding 
his  snuff-box  unopened  in  his  hand.  When  the 
story  was  finished  he  tapped  on  the  lid  of  his  box 
deliberately ;  took  a  long  sonorous  pinch  of 
snuff — 

"  Bah  !"  said  the  Marquis,  and  walked  toward 
the  other  end  of  the  gallery. 


Here  the  narrator  paused.  The  company  wait- 
ed for  some  time  for  him  to  resume  his  narrative  ; 
but  he  continued  silent. 

"  Well,5'  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  "  and 
what  did  your  uncle  say  then  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  other. 

"  And  what  did  the  Marquis  say  farther  ?'? 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?" 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  narrator  filling  a  glass 
of  wine. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.      43 

"  I  surmise,"  said  the  shrewd  old  gentleman 
with  the  waggish  nose — "  I  surmise  it  was  the 
old  housekeeper  walking  her  rounds  to  see  that 
all  vvas  right." 

"  Bah  !"  said  the  narrator,  "  my  uncle  vvas  too 
much  accustomed  to  strange  sights  not  to  know 
a  ghost  from  a  housekeeper  !" 

There  was  a  murmur  round  the  table  half  of 
merriment  half  of  disappointment.  I  was  inclined 
to  think  the  old  gentleman  had  really  an  after- 
part  of  his  story  in  reserve ;  but  he  sipped  his 
wine  and  said  nothing  more ;  and  there  was  an 
odd  expression  about  his  dilapidated  countenance 
that  left  me  in  doubt  whether  he  were  in  drol- 
lery or  earnest. 

"  Egad,"  said  the  knowing  gentleman  with 
the  flexible  nose,  "  this  story  of  your  uncle  puts 
me  in  mind  of  one  that  used  to  be  told  of  an  aunt  of 
mine,  by  the  mother's  side ;  though  I  don't  know 
that  it  will  bear  a  comparison  ;  as  the  good  lady 
was  not  quite  so  prone  to  meet  with  strange  ad- 
ventures. But  at  any  rate,  you  shall  have  it. 


THE 
ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 


MY  aunt  was  a  lady  of  large  frame,  strong 
mind,  and  great  resolution  ;  she  was  what  might 
be  termed  a  very  manly  woman.  My  uncle  was 
a  thin,  puny  little  man,  very  meek  and  acquies- 
cent, and  no  match  for  my  aunt.  It  was  obser- 
ved that  he  dwindled  and  dwindled  gradually 
away,  from  the  day  of  his  marriage.  His  wife's 
powerful  mind  was  too  much  for  him  ;  it  wore 
him  out.  My  aunt,  however,  took  all  possible 
care  of  him,  had  half  the  doctors  in  town  to  pre- 
scribe for  him,  made  him  take  all  their  prescrip- 
tions, ivilly  nitty  9  and  dosed  him  with  physic 
enough  to  cure  a  whole  hospital.  All  was  in 
vain.  My  uncle  grew  worse  and  worse  the  more 
dosing  and  nursing  he  underwent,  until  in  the 
end  he  added  another  to  the  long  list  of  matrimo- 
nial victims,  who  have  been  killed  with  kindness. 

PART  I,  7 


40  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 

"  And  was  it  his  ghost  that  appeared  to  her  ?'? 
asked  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  who  had  ques- 
tioned the  former  story  teller, 

"  You  shall  hear,"  replied  the  narrator  : — My 
aunt  took  on  mightily  for  the  death  of  her  poor 
dear  husband  !  Perhaps  she  felt  some  compunc- 
tion at  having  given  him  so  much  physic,  and 
nursed  him  into  his  grave.  At  any  rate,  she  did 
all  that  a  widow  could  do  to  honour  his  memo- 
ry. She  spared  no  expense  in  either  the  quanti- 
ty or  quality  of  her  mourning  weeds  ;  she  wore 
a  miniature  of  him  about  her  neck,  as  large  as  a 
little  sun  dial ;  and  she  had  a  full  length  portrait 
of  him  always  hanging  in  her  bed  chamber.  All 
the  world  extolled  her  conduct  to  the  skies ;  and 
it  was  determined,  that  a  woman  who  behaved 
so  well  to  the  memory  of  one  husband,  deserved 
soon  to  get  another. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  she  went  to 
take  up  her  residence  in  an  old  country  seat  in 
Derbyshire,  which  had  long  been  in  the  care  of 
merely  a  steward  and  housekeeper.  She  took 
most  of  her  servants  with  her,  intending  to  make 


XHE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT.  47 

it  her  principal  abode.  The  house  stood  in  a 
lonely,  wild  part  of  the  country,  among  the  gray 
Derbyshire  hills ;  with  a  murderer  hanging  in 
chains  on  a  bleak  height  in  full  view. 

The  servants  from  town  were  half  frightened 
out  of  their  wits,  at  the  idea  of  living  in  such  a 
dismal,  pagan-looking  place ;  especially  when 
they  got  together  in  the  servant's  hall  in  the 
evening,  and  compared  notes  on  all  the  hobgob- 
lin stories  they  had  picked  up  in  the  course  of  the 
day.  They  were  afraid  to  venture  alone  about 
the  forlorn  black-looking  chambers.  My  ladies' 
maid,  who  was  troubled  with  nerves,  declared  she 
could  never  sleep  alone  in  such  a  "  gashly,  rum- 
maging old  building ;"  and  the  footman,  who  was 
a  kind-hearted  young  fellow,  did  all  in  his  power 
to  cheer  her  up. 

My  aunt,  herself,  seemed  to  be  struck  with  the 
lonely  appearance  of  the  house.  Before  she 
went  to  bed,  therefore,  she  examined  well  the 
fastenings  of  the  doors  and  windows,  locked  up 
the  plate  with  her  own  hands,  and  carried  the 
keys,  together  with  a  little  box  of  money  and 


48  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 

jewels,  to  her  own  room  ;  for  she  w7as  a  notable 
woman,  and  always  saw  to  all  things  herself. 
Having  put  the  keys  under  her  pillow,  and  dis- 
missed her  maid,  she  sat  by  her  toilet  arranging 
her  hair ;  for,  being,  in  spite  of  her  grief  for  my 
uncle,  rather  a  buxom  widow,  she  was  a  little 
particular  about  her  person.  She  sat  for  a  little 
while  looking  at  her  face  in  the  glass,  first  on  one 
side,  then  on  the  other,  as  ladies  are  apt  to  do, 
when  they  would  ascertain  lif  they  have  been  in 
good  looks ;  for  a  roystering  country  squire  of 
the  neighbourhood,  with  whom  she  had  flirted 
when  a  girl,  had  called  that  day  to  welcome  her 
to  the  country. 

* 

All  of  a  sudden  she  thought  she  heard  some- 
thing move  behind  her.  She  looked  hastily 
round,  but  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  No- 
thing but  the  grimly  painted  portrait  of  her  poor 
dear  man,  which  had  been  hung  against  the  wall. 
She  gave  a  heavy  sigh  to  his  memory,  as  she  was 
accustomed  to  do,  whenever  she  spoke  of  him  in 
company  ;  and  went  on  adjusting  her  night  dress. 
Her  sigh  was  re-echoed ;  or  answered  by  a  long- 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT.  49 

drawn  breath.  She  looked  round  again,  but  no 
one  was  to  be  seen.  She  ascribed  these  sounds 
to  the  wind,  oozing  through  the  rat  holes  of  the 
old  mansion  ;  and  proceeded  leisurely  to  put  her 
hair  in  papers,  when,  all  at  once,  she  thought  she 
perceived  one  of  the  eyes  of  the  portrait  move. 

"  The  back  of  her  head  being  towards  it !" 
said  the  story  teller  with  the  ruined  head,  giv- 
ing a  knowing  wink  on  the  sound  side  of  his 
visage — "  good  !" 

"Yes  sir!"  replied  drily  the  narrator,  "her 
back  being  towards  the  portrait,  but  her  eye 
fixed  on  its  reflection  in  the  glass." 

Well,  as  I  was  saying,  she  perceived  one  of 
the  eyes  of  the  portrait  move.  So  strange  a 
circumstance,  as  you  may  well  suppose,  gave 
her  a  sudden  shock.  To  assure  herself  cautious- 
ly of  the  fact,  she  put  one  hand  to  her  forehead, 
as  if  rubbing  it ;  peeped  through  her  fingers,  and 
moved  the  candle  with  the  other  hand.  The 
light  of  the  taper  gleamed  on  the  eye,  and  was  re- 
flected from  it.  She  was  sure  it  moved.  Nay, 
more,  it  seemed  to  give  her  a  wink,  as  she  had 


50  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 

sometimes  known  her  husband  to  do  wheir 
living !  It  struck  a  momentary  chill  to  her  heart ; 
for  she  was  a  lone  woman,  and  felt  herself  fear- 
fully situated. 

The  chill  was  but  transient.  My  aunt,  who 
was  almost  as  resolute  a  personage  as  your  uncle, 
sir,  (turning  to  the  old  story  teller,)  became 
instantly  calm  and  collected.  She  went  on  ad- 
justing her  dress.  She  even  hummed  a  favourite 
air,  and  did  not  make  a  single  false  note.  She 
casually  overturned  a  dressing  box  ;  took  a  can- 
dle and  picked  up  the  articles  leisurely,  one  by 
one,  from  the  floor ;  pursued  a  rolling  pin  cushion 
that  was  making  the  best  of  its  way  under  the 
bed  ;  then  opened  the  door  ;  looked  for  an  instant 
into  the  corridor,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to  go ; 
and  then  walked  quietly  out. 

She  hastened  down  stairs,  ordered  the  ser- 
vants to  arm  themselves  with  the  first  weapons 
that  came  to  hand,  placed  herself  at  their  head, 
and  returned  almost  immediately. 

Her  hastily  levied  army  presented  a  formida- 
ble force.  The  steward  had  a  rusty  blunder- 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT,  51 

buss ;  the  coachman  a  loaded  whip ;  the  foot- 
man a  pair  of  horse  pistols ;  the  cook  a  huge 
chopping  knife,  and  the  butler  a  bottle  in  each 
hand.  My  aunt  led  the  van  with  a  red  hot  po- 
ker ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  she  was  the  most  for- 
midable of  the  party.  The  waiting  maid  brought 
up  the  rear,  dreading  to  stay  alone  in  the  ser- 
vant's hall,  smelling  to  a  broken  bottle  of  vola- 
tile salts,  and  expressing  her  terror  of  the  ghost- 
eses. 

"  Ghosts  !"  said  my  aunt  resolutely,  "  I'll  singe 
their  whiskers  for  them  !" 

They  entered  the  chamber.  All  was  still  and 
undisturbed  as  when  she  left  it.  They  approach- 
ed the  portrait  of  my  uncle. 

"  Pull  me  down  that  picture  !"  cried  my  aunt 

A  heavy  groan,  and  a  sound  like  the  chatter- 
ing of  teeth,  was  heard  from  the  portrait.  The 
servants  shrunk  back.  The  maid  uttered  a  faint 
shriek,  and  clung  to  the  footman. 

"  Instantly  !'•'  added  my  aunt,  with  a  stamp  of 
the  foot. 

The  picture  was  pulled  down,  and   from  a 


52  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 

recess  behind  it,  in  which  had  formerly  stood  a 
clock,  they  hauled  forth  a  round-shouldered, 
black-bearded  varlet,  with  a  knife  as  long  as  my 
arm,  but  trembling  all  over  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"  Well,  and  who  was  he  ?  No  ghost,  I  sup- 
pose !"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  A  knight  of  the  post,"  replied  the  narrator, 
"  who  had  been  smitten  with  the  worth  of  the 
wealthy  widow ;  or  rather  a  marauding  Tarquin, 
who  had  stolen  into  her  chamber  to  violate  her 
purse  and  rifle  her  strong  box  when  all  the  house 
should  be  asleep.  In  plain  terms,"  contiaued  he, 
"  the  vagabond  was  a  loose  idle  fellow  of  the 
neighbourhood,  who  had  once  been  a  servant  in 
the  house,  and  had  been  employed  to  assist  in  ar- 
ranging it  for  the  reception  of  its  mistress.  He 
confessed  that  he  had  contrived  this  hiding  place 
for  his  nefarious  purposes,  and  had  borrowed  an 
eye  from  the  portrait  by  way  of  a  reconnoitering 
hole." 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  him — did  they 
hang  him  ?"  resumed  the  questioner. 

u  Hang  him  ? — how  could  they  ?"  exclaimed 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT.  53 

a  beetle-browed  barrister,  with  a  hawk's  nose — • 
"  the  offence  was  not  capital — no  robbery,  nor 
assault  had  been  committed — no  forcible  entry 
or  breaking  into  the  premises" 

"  My  aunt,"  said  the  narrator,  "  was  a  woman 
of  spirit,  and  apt  to  take  the  law  into  her  own 
hands.  She  had  her  own  notions  of  cleanliness 
also.  She  ordered  the  fellow  to  be  drawn  through 
the  horsepond  to  cleanse  away  all  offences,  and 
then  to  be  well  rubbed  down  with  an  oaken 
towel." 

"  And  what  became  of  him  afterwards  ?"  said 
the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  I  do  not  exactly  know — I  believe  he  was 
sent  on  a  voyage  of  improvement  to  Botany  Bay." 

"  And  your  aunt" — said  the  inquisitive  gentle- 
man— "  I'll  warrant  she  took  care  to  make  her 
maid  sleep  in  the  room  with  her  after  that." 

"  No,  sir,  she  did  better — she  gave  her  hand 
shortly  after  to  the  roystering  squire ;  for  she- 
used  to  observe  it  was  a  dismal  thing  for  a  wo- 
man to  sleep  alone  in  the  country." 

"  She  was  right."  observed  the  inquisitive  gen- 

PART  I.  8 


54  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT, 

tleman,  nodding  his  head  sagaciously — "  but  I 
am  sorry  they  did  not  hang  that  fellow." 

It  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the  last  narra- 
tor had  brought  his  tale  to  the  most  satisfactory 
conclusion  ;  though  a  country  clergyman  present 
regretted  that  the  uncle  and  aunt,  who  figured  in 
the  different  stories,  had  not  been  married  toge- 
ther. They  certainly  would  have  been  well 
matched. 

"  But  I  don't  see,  after  all,"  said  the  inquisitive 
gentleman,  "  that  there  was  any  ghost  in  this 
last  story." 

"  Oh,  if  it's  ghosts  you  want,  honey,"  cried 
the  Irish  captain  of  dragoons,  "  if  it's  ghosts  you 
want,  you  shall  have  a  whole  regiment  of  them. 
And  since  these  gentlemen  have  been  giving  the 
adventures  of  their  uncles  and  aunts,  faith  and 
I'll  e'en  give  you  a  chapter  too,  out  of  my  own 
family  history." 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON, 

OR  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER. 


MY  grandfather  was  a  bold  dragoon,  for  it's  a 
profession,  d'ye  see,  that  has  run  in  the  family. 
All  my  forefathers  have  been  dragoons  and  died 
upon  the  field  of  honour  except  myself,  and  I 
hope  my  posterity  may  be  able  to  say  the  same ; 
however,  I  don't  mean  to  be  vainglorious.  Well, 
my  grandfather,  as  I  said,  was  a  bold  dragoon, 
and  had  served  in  the  Low  Countries.  In  fact, 
he  was  one  of  that  very  army,  which,  according 
to  my  uncle  Toby,  "  swore  so  terribly  in  Flan- 
ders." He  could  swear  a  good  stick  himself ;  and. 
moreover,  was  the  very  man  that  introduced  the 
doctrine  Corporal  Trim  mentions,  of  radical  heat 
and  radical  moisture  ;  or  in  other  words,  the  mode 
of  keeping  out  the  damps  of  ditch  water  by  burnt 
brandy.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it's  nothing  to  the 
purport  of  my  story.  I  only  tell  it  to  show  you 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

that  my  grandfather  was  a  man  not  easily  to  be 
humbugged.  He  had  seen  service  ;  or,  according 
to  his  own  phrase,  "  he  had  seen  the  divil" — 
and  that's  saying  every  thing. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  on  his 
way  to  England,  for  which  he  intended  to  em- 
bark at  Ostend  ; — bad  luck  to  the  place  for  one 
where  I  was  kept  by  storms  and  head  winds  for 
three  long  days,  and  the  divil  of  a  jolly  compa- 
nion or  pretty  face  to  comfort  me.  Well,  as  I 
was  saying,  my  grandfather  was  on  his  way  to 
England,  or  rather  to  Ostend — no  matter  which, 
it's  all  the  same.  So  one  evening,  towards  night- 
fall, he  rode  jollily  into  Bruges.  Very  like  you 
all  know  Bruges,  gentlemen,  a  queer,  old-fa- 
shioned Flemish  town,  once  they  say  a  great 
place  for  trade  and  money  making,  in  old  times, 
when  the  Mynheers  were  in  their  glory;  but 
almost  as  large  and  as  empty  as  an  Irishman's 
pocket  at  the  present  day.  Well,  gentlemen, 
it  was  the  time  of  the  annual  fair.  All  Bruges 
was  crowded  ;  and  the  canals  swarmed  with 
Dutch  boats,  and  the  streets  swjarmed  with  Dutch 


THE  BOLD  DKAGOON.  57 

merchants ;  and  there  was  hardly  any  getting 
along  for  goods,  wares,  and  merchandises,  and 
peasants  in  big  breeches,  and  women  in  half  a 
score  of  petticoats. 

My  grandfather  rode  jollily  along,  in  his  easy 
slashing  way,  for  he  was  a  saucy,  sunshiny  fel- 
low— staring  about  him  at  the  motley  crowd,  and 
the  old  houses  with  gabel  ends  to  the  street  and 
storks'  nests  on  the  chimneys ;  winking  at  the 
ya  vrou  ws  who  showed  their  faces  at  the  windows, 
and  joking  the  women  right  and  left  in  the  street; 
all  of  whom  laughed  and  took  it  in  amazing  good 
part ;  for  though  he  did  not  know  a  word  of  their 
language,  yet  he  had  always  a  knack  of  making 
himself  understood  among  the  women. 

Well,  gentlemen,  it  being  the  time  of  the  an- 
nual fair,  all  the  town  was  crowded  ;  every  inn 
and  tavern  full,  and  my  grandfather  applied  in 
vain  from  one  to  the  other  for  admittance.  At 
length  he  rode  up  to  an  old  rackety  inn  that  look- 
ed ready  to  fall  to  pieces,  and  which  all  the  rats 
would  have  run  away  from,  if  they  could  have 
found  room  in  any  other  house  to  put  their  heads. 


58  THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

It  was  just  such  a  queer  building  as  you  see  in 
Dutch  pictures,  with  a  tall  roof  that  reached  up 
into  the  clouds ;  and  as  many  garrets,  one  over 
the  other,  as  the  seven  heavens  of  Mahomet. — 
Nothing  had  saved  it  from  tumbling  down  but  a 
stork's  nest  on  the  chimney,  which  always  brings 
good  luck  to  a  house  in  the  Low  Countries  ;  and 
at  the  very  time  of  my  grandfather's  arrival, 
there  were  two  of  these  long-legged  birds  of 
grace,  standing  like  ghosts  on  the  chimney  top. 
Faith,  but  they've  kept  the  house  on  its  legs  to 
this  very  day ;  for  you  may  see  it  any  time  you 
pass  through  Bruges,  as  it  stands  there  yet ;  only 
it  is  turned  into  a  brewery — a  brewery  of  strong 
Flemish  beer  ;  at  least  it  was  so  when  I  came 
that  -way  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo. 

My  grandfather  eyed  the  house  curiously  as 
he  approached.  It  might  not  altogether  have 
struck  his  fancy,  had  he  not  seen  in  large  letters 
over  the  door, 

HEER  VERKOOPT  MAN  GOEDEN  DRANK. 

My  grandfather  had  learnt  enough  of  the  lan- 
guage to  know  that  the  sign  promised  good  li- 


9 

THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  59 

quor.  "  This  is  the  house  for  me,"  said  he,  stop- 
ping short  before  the  door. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  a  dashing  dragoon 
was  an  event  in  an  old  inn,  frequented  only  by 
the  peaceful  sons  of  traffick.  A  rich  burgher  of 
Antwerp,  a  stately  ample  man,  in  a  broad  Flem- 
ish hat,  and  who  \vas  the  great  man  and  great 
patron  of  the  establishment,  sat  smoking  a  clean 
long  pipe  on  one  side  of  the  door  ;  a  fat  little  dis- 
tiller of  Geneva  from  Schiedam,  sat  smoking  on 
the  other,  and  the  bottle-nosed  host  stood  in  the 
door,  and  the  comely  hostess,  in  crimped  cap, 
beside  him  ;  and  the  hostess'  daughter,  a  plump 
Flanders  lass,  with  long  gold  pendants  in  her 
ears,  was  at  a  side  window. 

"  Humph  !"  said  the  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp, 
with  a  sulky  glance  at  the  stranger. 

"  Der  duyvel !"  said  the  fat  little  distiller  of 
Schiedam. 

The  landlord  saw  with  the  quick  glance  of  a 
publican  that  the  new  guest  was  not  at  all,  at  all, 
to  the  taste  of  the  old  ones ;  and  to  tell  the  truth, 
he  did  not  himself  like  my  grandfather's  saucy 


i 


DO  THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

eye.  He  shook  his  head — "  Not  a  garret  in  the 
house  but  was  full." 

"  Not  a  garret !"  echoed  the  landlady. 

"  Not  a  garret !"  echoed  the  daughter. 

.The  burgher  of  Antwerp  and  the  little  distil- 
ler of  Schiedam  continued  to  smoke  their  pipes 
sullenly,  eyed  the  enemy  askance  from  under 
their  broad  hats,  but  said  nothing. 

My  grandfather  was  not  a  man  to  be  brow- 
beaten. He  threw  the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck, 
cocked  his  hat  on  one  side,  stuck  one  arm  akim- 
bo, slapped  his  broad  thigh  with  the  other  hand — 

"  Faith  and  troth !"  said  he,  "  but  I'll  sleep 
in  this  house  this  very  night !" 

My  grandfather  had  on  a  tight  pair  of  buck- 
skins— the  slap  went  to  the  landlady's  heart. 

He  followed  up  the  vow  by  jumping  off  his 
horse,  and  making  his  way  past  the  staring  Myn- 
heers into  the  .public  room. — May  be  youVe 
been  in  the  bar  room  of  an  old  Flemish  inn — 
faith,  but  a  handsome  chamber  it  was  as  you'd 
wish  to  see  ;  with  a  brick  floor,  a  great  fire 
place,  with  the  whole  bible  history  in  glazed 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  61 

tiles ;  and  then  the  mantle-piece,  pitching  itself 
head  foremost  out  of  the  wall,  with  a  whole  regir 
ment  of  cracked  tea- pots  and  earthen  jugs  paraded 
on  it ;  not  to  mention  half  a  dozen  great  Dejft 
platters  hung  about  the  room  by  way  of  pictures  ; 
and  the  little  bar  in  one  corner,  and  the  bouncing 
bar  maid  inside  of  it  with  a  red  calico  cap  and 
yellow  ear  drops. 

My  grandfather  snapped  his  fingers  over  his 
head,  as  he  cast  an  eye  round  the  room  :  •'  Faith, 
this  is  the  very  house  I've  been  looking  after," 
said  he. 

There  was  some  farther  show  of  resistance  on 
the  part  of  the  garrison,  but  my  grandfather  was 
an  old  soldier,  and  an  Irishman  to  boot,  and  not 
easily  repulsed,  especially  after  he  had  got  into 
the  fortress.  So  he  blarney'd  the  landlord,  kiss- 
ed the  landlord's  wife,  tickled  the  landlord's 
daughter,  chucked  the  bar  maid  under  the  chin ; 
and  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  it  would  be 
a  thousand  pities,  and  a  burning  shame  into  the 
bargain,  to  turn  such  a  bold  dragoon  into  the 
streets.  So  they  laid  their  heads  together,  that 

PART  I.  9 


62  THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

is  to  say,  my  grandfather  and  the  landlady,  and 
it  was  at  length  agreed  to  accommodate  him  with 
an  old  chamber  that  had  for  some  time  been 
shut  up. 

"  Some  say  it's  haunted  !"  whispered  the  land- 
lord's daughter,  "  but  you're  a  bold  dragoon,  and 
I  dare  say  don't  fear  ghosts." 

"  The  divil  a  bit !"  said  my  grandfather,  pinch- 
ing her  plump  cheek  ;  "  but  if  I  should  be  trou- 
bled by  ghosts,  I've  been  to  the  Red  sea.  in  my 
time,  and  have  a  pleasant  way  of  laying  them, 
my  darling !" 

And  then  he  whispered  something  to  the  girl 
which  made  her  laugh,  and  give  him  a  good-hu- 
moured box  on  the  ear.  In  short,  there  was  no- 
body knew  better  how  to  make  his  way  among 
the  petticoats  than  my  grandfather. 

In  a  little  while,  as  was  his  usual  way,  he  took 
complete  possession  of  the  house ;  swaggering  all 
over  it : — into  the  stable  to  look  after  his  horse  ; 
into  the  kitchen  to  look  after  his  supper.  He 
had  something  to  say  or  do  with  every  one ; 
smoked  with  the  Dutchmen;  drank  with  the 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  63 

Germans ;  slapped  the  men  on  the  shoulders, 
tickled  the  women  under  the  ribs : — never  since 
the  days  of  Ally  Croaker  had  such  a  rattling  blade 
been  seen.  The  landlord  stared  at  him  with  as- 
tonishment; the  landlord's  daughter  hung  her 
head  and  giggled  whenever  he  came  near ;  and 
as  he  turned  his  back  and  swaggered  along,  his 
tight  jacket  setting  off  his  broad  shoulders  and 
plump  buckskins,  and  his  long  sword  trailing  by 
his  side,  the  rnaids  whispered  to  one  another— 
"  What  a  proper  man  !" 

At  supper  my  grandfather  took  command  of 
the  table  d'hote  as  though  he  had  been  at  home ; 
helped  every  body,  not  forgetting  himself;  talk* 
ed  with  every  one,  whether  he  understood  their 
language  or  not;  and  made  his  way  into  the  in- 
timacy of  the  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  who  had 
never  been  known  to  be  sociable  with  any  one 
during  his  life.  In  fact,  he  revolutionized  the 
whole  establishment,  and  gave  it  such  a  rouse, 
that  the  very  house  reeled  with  it.  He  outsat 
every  one  at  table  excepting  the  little  fat  distiller 
of  Schiedam,  who  had  sat  soaking  for  a  long  time 


64  THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

before  he  broke  forth;  but  when  he  did,  he  was 
a  very  devil  incarnate.  He  took  a  violent  affec- 
tion for  my  grandfather ;  so  they  sat  drinking, 
and  smoking,  and  telling  stories,  and  singing 
Dutch  and  Irish  songs,  without  understanding  a 
a  word  each  other  said,  until  the  little  Hollander 
was  fairly  swampt  with  his  own  gin  and  water, 
and  carried  off  to  bed,  whooping  and  hiccuping, 
and  trolling  the  burthen  of  a  Low  Dutch  love 
song. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  shown 
to  his  quarters,  up  a  huge  staircase  composed  of 
loads  of  hewn  timber  ;  and  through  long  rigma- 
role passages,  hung  with  blackened  paintings  of 
fruit,  and  fish,  and  game,  and  country  frolicks,  and 
huge  kitchens,  and  portly  burgomasters,  such  as 
you  see  about  old-fashioned  Flemish  inns,  till  at 
length  he  arrived  at  his  room. 

An  old-times  chamber  it  was,  sure  enough, 
and  crowded  with  all  kinds  of  trumpery.  It 
looked  like  an  infirmary  for  decayed  and  super- 
annuated furniture ;  where  every  thing  diseased 
and  disabled  was  sent  to  nurse,  or  to  be  forgot- 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  65 

ten.  Or  rather,  it  might  have  been  taken  for  a 
general  congress  of  old  legitimate  moveables, 
where  every  kind  and  country  had  a  represen- 
tative. No  two  chairs  were  alike  :  such  high 
backs  and  low  backs,  and  leather  bottoms  and 
worsted  bottoms,  and  straw  bottoms,  and  no 
bottoms ;  and  cracked  marble  tables  with  curi- 
ously carved  legs,  holding  balls  in  their  claws, 
as  though  they  were  going  to  play  at  ninepins. 

My  grandfather  made  a  bow  to  the  motley 
assemblage  as  he  entered,  and  having  undressed 
himself,  placed  his  light  in  the  fire  place,  asking 
pardon  of  the  tongs,  which  seemed  to  be  making 
love  to  the  shovel  in  the  chimney  corner,  and 
whispering  soft  nonsense  in  its  ear. 

The  rest  of  the  guests  were  by  this  time  sound 
asleep ;  for  your  Mynheers  are  huge  sleepers. 
The  house  makis,  one  by  one,  crept  up  yawning 
to  their  atticks,  and  not  a  female  head  in  the  inn 
was  laid  on  a  pillow  that  night  without  dream- 
ing of  the  Bold  Dragoon. 

My  grandfather,  for  his  part,  got  into  bed,  and 
drew  over  him  one  of  those  great  bags  of  down, 


66  THE  BOLD   DRAGOON. 

under  which  they  smother  a  man  in  the  Low 
Countries ;  and  there  he  lay,  melting  between 
two  feather  beds,  like  an  anchovy  sandwich 
between  two  slices  of  toast  and  butter.  He  was 
a  warm  complexioned  man,  and  this  smothering 
played  the  very  deuce  with  him.  So,  sure 
enough,  in  a  little  while  it  seemed  as  if  a  legion 
of  imps  were  twitching  at  him,  and  all  the  blood 
in  his  veins  was  in  fever  heat. 

He  lay  still,  however,  until  all  the  house  was 
quiet,  excepting  the  snoring  of  the  Mynheers 
from  the  different  chambers  ;  who  answered 
one  another  in  all  kinds  of  tones  and  cadences, 
like  so  many  bull-frogs  in  a  swamp.  The  quieter 
the  house  became,  the  more  unquiet  became  my 
grandfather.  He  waxed  warmer  and  warmer, 
until  at  length  the  bed  became  too  hot  to  hold 
him. 

"  May  be  the  maid  had  warmed  it  too  much  ?" 
said  the  curious  gentleman  inquiringly. 

"  I  rather  think  the  contrary,"  replied  the 
Irishman.  t;  But  be  that  as  it  may,  it  grew  too 
hot  for  my  grandfather." 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  67 

"  Faith  there's  no  standing  this  any  longer," 
says  he ;  so  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  went  strol- 
ling about  the  house. 

"  Whit  for  ?"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  Why,  to  cool  himself  to  be  sure,"  replied 
the  other,  "  or  perhaps  to  find  a  more  comforta- 
ble bed — or  perhaps but.  no  matter  what  he 

went  for — he  never  mentioned  ;  and  there's  no 
use  in  taking  up  our  time  in  conjecturing." 

Well,  my  grandfather  had  been  for  some 
time  absent  from  his  room,  and  was  returning, 
perfectly  cool,  when  just  as  he  reached  the  door 
he  heared  a  strange  noise  within.  He  paused 
and  listened.  It  seemed  as  if  some  one  was  try- 
ing to  hum  a  tune  in  defiance  of  the  asthma, 
He  recollected  the  report  of  the  room's  being 
haunted ;  but  he  was  no  believer  in  ghosts.  So 
he  pushed  the  door  gently  ajar,  and  peeped  in. 

Egad,  gentlemen,  there  was  a  gambol  carry- 
ing on  within  enough  to  have  astonished  St. 
Anthony. 

By  the  light  of  the  fire  he  saw  a  pale  weazen^ 


68  THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

faced  fellow  in  a  long  flannel  gown  and  a  tall 
white  nightcap  with  a  tassel  to  it,  who  sat  by 
the  fire,  with  a  bellows  under  his  arm  by  way 
of  bagpipe,  from  which  he  forced  the  asthma- 
tical  music  that  had  bothered  my  grandfather. 
As  he  played,  too,  he  kept  twitching  about  with 
a  thousand  queer  contortions  ;  nodding  his  head 
and  bobbing  about  his  tasselled  nightcap. 

My  grandfather  thought  this  very  odd,  and 
mighty  presumptuous,  and  was  about  to  demand 
what  business  he  had  to  play  his  wind  instru- 
ments in  another  gentleman's  quarters,  when  a 
new  cause  of  astonishment  met  his  eye.  From  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room  a  long-backed,  bandy- 
legged chair,  covered  with  leather,  and  studded 
all  over  in  a  coxcomical  fashion  with  little  brass 
nails,  got  suddenly  into  motion  ;  thrust  out  first 
a  claw  foot,  then  a  crooked  arm,  and  at  length, 
making  a  leg,  slided  gracefully  up  to  an  easy 
chair,  of  tarnished  brocade,  with  a  hole  in  its 
bottom,  and  led  it  gallantly  out  in  a  ghostly 
minuet  about  the  floor. 

The  musician  now  played  fiercer  and  fiercer. 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  69 

and  bobbed  his  head  and  his  nightcap  about  like 
mad.  By  degrees  the  dancing  mania  seemed  to 
seize  upon  all  the  other  pieces  of  furniture.  The 
antique,  long-bodied  chairs  paired  off  in  couples 
and  led  down  a  country  dance;  a  three-legged 
stool  danced  a  hornpipe,  though  horribly  puz- 
zled by  its  supernumerary  leg ;  while  the  amo- 
rous tongs  seized  the  shovel  round  the  waist, 
and  whirled  it  about  the  room  in  a  German 
waltz.  In  short,  all  the  moveables  got  in  mo- 
lion,  capering  about ;  pirouetting,  hands  across, 
right  and  left,  like  so  many  devils,  all  except  a 
great  clothes  press,  which  kept  curtseying  and 
curtseying,  like  a  dowager,  in  one  corner,  in  ex- 
quisite time  to  the  music ; — being  either  too  cor- 
pulent to  dance,  or  perhaps  at  a  loss  for  a  part- 
ner. 

My  grandfather  concluded  the  latter  to  be  the 
reason;  so,  being,  like  a  true  Irishman,  devoted 
to  the  sex,  and  at  all  times  ready  for  a  frolick, 
he  bounced  into  the  room,  calling  to  the  musician 
to  strike  up  "  Paddy  O'RarTerty,"  capered  up  to 
the  clothes  press  and  seized  upon  two  handles  to 

PART  I.  10 


70  THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

lead  her  out : — When,  whizz  ! — the  whole  revel 
was  at  an  end.  The  chairs,  tables,  tongs,  and 
shovel  slunk  in  an  instant  as  quietly  into  their 
places  as  if  nothing  had  happened ;  and  the  mu- 
sician vanished  up  the  chimney,  leaving  the  bel- 
lows behind  him  in  his  hurry.  My  grandfather 
found  himself  seated  in  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
with  the  clothes  press  sprawling  before  him,  and 
the  two  handles  jerked  off  and  in  his  hands. 

"  Then  after  all,  this  was  a  mere  dream  !"  said 
the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"The  divil  a  bit  of  a  dream  !"  replied  the 
Irishman  :  "  there  never  was  a  truer  fact  in  this 
world.  Faith,  I  should  have  liked  to  see  any 
man  tell  my  grandfather  it  was  a  dream." 

Well,  gentlemen,  as  the  clothes  press  was  a 
mighty  heavy  body,  and  my  grandfather  likewise, 
particularly  in  rear,  you  may  easily  suppose  two 
such  heavy  bodies  coming  to  the  ground  would 
make  a  bit  of  a  noise.  Faith,  the  old  mansion  shook 
as  though  it  had  mistaken  it  for  an  earthquake. 
The  whole  garrison  was  alarmed.  The  landlord, 
who  slept  just  below,  hurried  up  with  a  candle 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  71 

to  inquire  the  cause,  but  with  all  his  haste  his 
daughter  had  hurried  to  the  scene  of  uproar  before 
him.  The  landlord  was  followed  by  the  landla- 
dy, who  was  followed  by  the  bouncing  bar  maid, 
who  was  followed  by  the  simpering  chambermaids 
all  holding  together,  as  well  as  they  could,  such 
garments  as  they  had  first  lain  hands  on  ;  but  all 
in  a  terrible  hurry  to  see  what  the  devil  was  to 
pay  in  the  chamber  of  the  bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather  related  the  marvellous  scene 
he  had  witnessed,  and  the  prostrate  clothes  press, 
and  the  broken  handles,  bore  testimony  to  the 
fact.  There  was  no  contesting  such  evidence  ; 
particularly  with  a  lad  of  my  grandfather's  com- 
plexion, who  seemed  able  to  make  good  every 
word  either  with  sword  or  shillelah.  So  the 
landlord  scratched  his  head  and  looked  silly,  as 
he  was  apt  to  do  when  puzzled.  The  landlady 
scratched — no,  she  did  not  scratch  her  head, — 
but  she  knit  her  brow,  and  did  not  seem  half 
pleased  with  the  explanation.  But  the  landlady's 
daughter  corroborated  it,  by  recollecting  that  the 
last  person  who  had  dwelt  in  that  chamber  was 


72  THE  BOLD  DRAGOON. 

a  famous  juggler  who  had  died  of  St.  Vitus's 
dance,  and  no  doubt  had  infected  all  the  furni- 
ture. 

This  set  all  things  to  rights,  particularly  when 
the  chambermaids  declared  that  they  had  all 
witnessed  strange  carryings  on  in  that  room  ; — 
and  as  they  declared  this  "  upon  their  honours,53 
there  could  not  remain  a  doubt  upon  the  subject. 

u  And  did  your  grandfather  go  to  bed  again  in 
that  room  ?"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell.  Where  he 
passed  the  rest  of  the  night  was  a  secret  he  never 
disclosed.  In  fact,  though  he  had  seen  much 
service,  he  was  but  indifferently  acquainted  with, 
geography,  and  apt  to  make  blunders  in  his  tra- 
vels about  inns  at  night,  that  it  would  have  puz- 
zled him  sadly  to  account  for  in  the  morning." 

"  Was  he  ever  apt  to  walk  in  his  sleep?"  said 
the  knowing  old  gentleman. 

"  Never  that  I  heard  of." 


THE  ADVENTURE 


OP 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE. 


As  one  story  of  the  kind  produces  another,  and 
as  all  the  company  seemed  fully  engrossed  by 
the  topic,  and  disposed  to  bring  their  relatives 
and  ancestors  upon  the  scene,  there  is  no  know- 
ing how  many  more  ghost  adventures  we  might 
have  heard,  had  not  a  corpulent  old  fox-hunter, 
who  had  slept  soundly  through  the  whole,  now 
suddenly  awakened,  with  a  loud  and  long-drawn 
yawn.  The  sound  broke  the  charm  ;  the  ghosts 
took  to  flight  as  though  it  had  been  cock-crow- 
ing, and  there  was  a  universal  move  for  bed. 

"  And  now  for  the  haunted  chamber,"  said  the 
Irish  captain,  taking  his  candle. 

"  Aye,  who's  to  be  the  hero  of  the  night  ?" 
said  the  gentleman  with  the  ruined  head. 

"  That  we  shall  see  in  the  morning,"  said  the 


74  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

old  gentleman  with  the  nose  :  "  whoever  looks 
pale  and  grizzly  will  have  seen  the  ghost. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Baronet,  "there's 
many  a  true  thing  said  in  jest.  In  fact,  one  of 
you  will  sleep  in  a  room  to-night" 

"  What — a  haunted  room  ?  a  haunted  room  ? 
I  claim  the  adventure — and  I — and  ! — and  I," 
cried  a  dozen  guests,  talking  and  laughing  at  the 
same  time. 

"  No — no,"  said  mine  host,  "  there  is  a 
secret  about  one  of  my  rooms  on  which  I  feel 
disposed  to  try  an  experiment.  So  gentlemen 
none  of  you  shall  know  who  has  the  haunted 
chamber,  until  circumstances  reveal  it.  I  will 
not  even  know  it  myself,  but  will  leave  it  to 
chance  and  the  allotment  of  the  housekeeper. 
At  the  same  time,  if  it  will  be  any  satisfaction  to 
you,  I  will  observe,  for  the  honour  of  my  pater- 
nal mansion,  that  there's  scarcely  a  chamber  in 
it  but  is  well  worthy  of  being  haunted." 

We  now  separated  for  the  night,  and  each  went 
to  his  allotted  room.  Mine  was  in  one  wing  of 
the  building,  and  I  could  not  but  smile  at  its  re- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  75 

semblance  in  style  to  those  eventful  apartments 
described  in  the  tales  of  the  supper  table.  It  was 
spacious  and  gloomy,  decorated  with  lamp  black 
portraits,  a  bed  of  ancient  damask,  with  a  tester 
sufficiently  lofty  to  grace  a  couch  of  state,  and  a 
number  of  massive  pieces  of  old-fashioned  furni- 
ture. I  drew  a  great  claw-footed  arm  chair  be- 
fore the  wide  fire  place;  stirred  up  the  fire ;  sat 
looking  into  it,  and  musing  upon  the  odd  stories 
I  had  heard ;  until,  partly  overcome  by  the  fa- 
tigue of  the  day's  hunting,  and  partly  by  the  wine 
and  wassail  of  mine  host,  I  fell  asleep  in  my 
chair. 

The  uneasiness  of  my  position  made  my  slum- 
ber troubled,  and  laid  me  at  the  mercy  of  all 
kinds  of  wild  and  fearful  dreams ;  now  it  was 
that  my  perfidious  dinner  and  supper  rose  in  re- 
bellion against  my  peace.  I  was  hag-ridden  by 
a  fat  saddle  of  mutton  ;  a  plum  pudding  weighed 
like  lead  upon  my  conscience ;  the  merry  thought 
of  a  capon  filled  me  with  horrible  suggestions  ; 
and  a  devilled  leg  of  a  turkey  stalked  in  all 
kinds  of  diabolical  shapes  through  my  imagina- 


76  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

tion.  In  short,  I  had  a  violent  fit  of  the  night- 
mare. Some  strange  indefinite  evil  seemed  hang- 
ing over  me  that  I  could  not  avert ;  something 
terrible  and  loathsome  oppressed  me  that  I  could 
not  shake  off*.  I  was  conscious  of  being  asleep, 
and  strove  to  rouse  myself,  but  every  effort 
redoubled  the  evil  ;  until  gasping,  struggling, 
almost  strangling,  I  suddenly  sprang  bolt  upright 
in  my  chair,  and  awoke. 

The  light  on  the  mantel  piece  had  burnt  low, 

• 

and  the  wick  was  divided ;  there  was  a  great 
winding  sheet  made  by  the  dripping  wax,  on  the 
side  towards  me.  The  disordered  taper  emitted 
a  broad  flaring  flame,  and  threw  a  strong  light  on 
a  painting  over  the  fire  place,  which  I  had  not 
hitherto  observed. 

It  consisted  merely  of  a  head,  or  rather  a  face, 
that  appeared  to  be  staring  full  upon  me,  and 
with  an  expression  that  was  startling.  It  was 
without  a  frame,  and  at  the  first  glance  I  could 
hardly  persuade  myself  that  it  was  not  a  real 
face,  thrusting  itself  out  of  the  dark  oaken  pan- 
nel.  I  sat  in  my  chair  gazing  at  it,  and  the  more 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  It 

I  gazed  the  more  it  disquieted  me.  I  had  never 
before  been  affected  in  the  same  way  by  any 
painting.  The  emotions  it  caused  were  strange 
and  indefinite.  They  were  something  like  what 
I  have  heard  ascribed  to  the  eyes  of  the  basilisk ;  or 
like  that  mysterious  influence  in  reptiles  termed 
fascination.  I  passed  my  hand  over  my  eyes 
several  times,  as  if  seeking  instinctively  to  brush 
away  this  allusion — in  vain — they  instantly  re- 
verted to  the  picture,  and  its  chilling,  creeping 
influence  over  my  flesh  was  redoubled. 

I  looked  round  the  room  on  other  pictures, 
either  to  divert  my  attention,  or  to  see  whether 
the  same  effect  would  be  produced  by  them. 
Some  of  them  were  grim  enough  to  produce  the 
effect,  if  the  mere  grimness  of  the  painting  pro- 
duced it — no  such  thing.  My  eye  passed  ovei 
them  all  with  perfect  indifference,  but  the  mo- 
ment it  reverted  to  this  visage  over  the  fire  place, 
it  was  as  if  an  electric  shock  darted  through  me. 
The  other  pictures  were  dim  and  faded  ;  but  this 
one  protruded  from  a  plain  Mack  ground'in  the 
strongest  relief,  and  with  wonderful  truth  of  co* 

PART  I.  11 


78  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

louring.  The  expression  was  that  of  agony — 
the  agony  of  intense  bodily  pain  ;  but  a  menace 
scowled  upon  the  brow,  and  a  few  sprinklings 
of  blood  added  to  its  ghastliness.  Yet  it  was  not 
all  these  characteristics — it  was  some  horror  of 
the  mind,  some  inscrutable  antipathy  awakened 
by  this  picture,  which  harrowed  up  my  feelings. 
I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  this  was  chi- 
merical ;  that  my  brain  was  confused  by  the 
fumes  of  mine  host's  good  cheer,  and,  in  some 
measure,  by  the  odd  stories  about  paintings  which 
had  been  told  at  supper.  I  determined  to  shake 
off  these  vapours  of  the  mind  ;  rose  from  my 
chair,  and  walked  about  the  room  ;  snapped  my 
fingers;  rallied  myself ;  laughed  aloud.  It  was 
a  forced  laugh,  and  the  echo  of  it  in  the  old  cham- 
ber jarred  upon  my  ear.  I  walked  to  the  win- 
dow ;  tried  to  discern  the  landscape  through  the 
glass.  It  was  pitch  darkness,  and  howling  storm 
without  ;  and  as  I  heard  the  wind  moan  amon°- 

o 

the  trees,  I  caught  a  reflection  of  this  accursed 
visage  in  the  pane  of  glass,  as  though  it  were 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  79 

staring  through  the  window  at  me.  Even  the 
reflection  of  it  was  thrilling. 

How  was  this  vile  nervous  fit,  for  such  I  now 
persuaded  myself  it  was,  to  be  conquered  ?  I 
determined  to  force  myself  not  to  look  at  the 
painting,  but  to  undress  quickly  and  get  into 
bed.  I  began  to  undress,  but  in  spite  of  every 
effort  I  could  not  keep  myself  from  stealing  a 
glance  every  now  and  then  at  the  picture  ;  and 
a  glance  was  now  sufficient  to  distress  me. 
Even  when  my  back  was  turned  to  it,  the  idea 
of  this  strange  face  behind  me,  peering  over  my 
shoulder,  was  insufferable.  I  threw  off  my 
clothes  and  hurried  into  bed  ;  but  still  this  vi- 
sage gazed  upon  me.  I  had  a  full  view  of  it 
from  my  bed,  and  for  some  time  could  not  take 
my  eyes  from  it.  I  had  grown  nervous  to  a  dis- 
mal degree. 

I  put  out  the  light,  and  tried  to  force  myself 
to  sleep  ; — all  in  vain  !  The  fire  gleaming  up  a 
little,  threw  an  uncertain  light  about  the  room, 
leaving,  however,  the  region  of  the  picture  in 
deep  shadow.  What,  thought  I3  if  this  be  the 


80  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

chamber  about  which  mine  host  spoke  as  having 
a  mystery  reigning  over  it  ? — I  had  taken  his 
words  merely  as  spoken  in  jest ;  might  they  have 
a  real  import  ?  I  looked  around.  The  faintly 
lighted  apartment  had  all  the  qualifications  re- 
quisite for  a  haunted  chamber.  It  began  in  my 
infected  imagination  to  assume  strange  appear- 
ances. The  old  portraits  turned  paler  and  paler, 
and  blacker  and  blacker ;  the  streaks  of  light  and 
shadow  thrown  among  the  quaint  old  articles  of 
furniture,  gave  them  singular  shapes  and  charac- 
ters. There  was  a  huge  dark  clothes  press  of 
antique  form,  gorgeous  in  brass  and  lustrous  with 
wax,  that  began  to  grow  oppressive  to  me. 

Arn  I  then,  thought  I,  indeed,  the  hero  of  the 
haunted  room  ?  Is  there  really  a  spell  laid  upon 
me,  or  is  this  all  some  contrivance  of  mine  host, 
to  raise  a  laugh  at  my  expense  ?  The  idea  of 
being  hag-ridden  by  my  own  fancy  all  night,  and 
then  bantered  on  my  haggard  looks  the  next  day 
was  intolerable  ;  but  the  very  idea  was  sufficient 
to  produce  the  effect,  and  to  render  me  still  more 
nervous.  Pish,  said  I,  it  can  be  no  such  thing. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  81 

How  could  my  worthy  host  imagine  that  I,  or 
any  man  would  be  so  worried  by  a  mere  picture  ? 
It  is  my  own  diseased  imagination  that  torments 
me.  I  turned  in  my  bed,  and  shifted  from  side 
to  side,  to  try  to  fall  asleep ;  but  all  in  vain. 
When  one  cannot  get  asleep  by  lying  quiet,  it  is 
seldom  that  tossing  about  will  effect  the  purpose. 
The  fire  gradually  went  out  and  left  the  room  in 
darkness.  Still  I  had  the  idea  of  this  inexpli- 
cable countenance  gazing  and  keeping  watch 
upon  me  through  the  darkness.  Nay,  what  was 
worse,  the  very  darkness  seemed  to  give  it  ad- 
ditional power,  and  to  multiply  its  terrors.  It  was 
like  having  an  unseen  enemy  hovering  about  one 
in  the  night.  Instead  of  having  one  picture  now 
to  worry  me,  I  had  a  hundred.  I  fancied  it  in 
every  direction.  And  there  it  is,  thought  I, — and 
there,  and  there, — with  its  horrible  and  mysterious 
expression,  still  gazing  and  gazing  on  me.  No — 
if  I  must  suffer  this  strange  and  dismal  influence, 
it  were  better  face  a  single  foe,  than  thus  be 
haunted  by  a  thousand  images  of  it. 

Whoever  has  been  in  such  a  state  of  nervous 


82  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

agitation,  must  know  that  the  longer  it  continues, 
the  more  uncontroulable  it  grows ;  the  very  air 
of  the  chamber  seemed  at  length  infected  by  the 
baleful  presence  of  this  picture.  I  fancied  it  ho- 
vering over  me.  I  almost  felt  the  fearful  visage 
from  the  wall  approaching  my  face, — it  seemed 
breathing  upon  me,  This  is  not  to  be  borne,  said 
I,  at  length,  springing  out  of  bed.  I  can  stand 
this  no  longer.  I  shall  only  tumble  and  toss 
about  here  all  night ;  make  a  very  spectre  of  my- 
self>  and  become  the  hero  of  the  haunted  cham- 
ber in  good  earnest.  Whatever  be  the  conse- 
quence, I'll  quit  this  cursed  room,  and  seek  a 
night's  rest  elsewhere.  They  can  but  laugh  at 
me  at  all  events,  and  they'll  be  sure  to  have  the 
laugh  upon  me  if  I  pass  a  sleepless  night  and 
show  them  a  haggard  and  wro-begone  visage  in 
the  morning. 

All  this  was  half  muttered  to  myself,  as  I  has- 
tily slipped  on  my  clothes ;  which  having  done, 
I  groped  my  way  out  of  the  room,  and  down  stairs 
to  the  drawing  room.  Here,  after  tumbling  over 
two  or  three  pieces  of  furniture,  I  made  out  to 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  83 

reach  a  sopha,  and  stretching  myself  upon  it  de- 
termined to  bivouack  there  for  the  night. 

The  moment  I  found  myself  out  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  that  strange  picture,  it  seemed  as  if 
the  charm  were  broken.  All  its  influence  was  at 
an  end.  I  felt  assured  that  it  was  confined  to  its 
own  dreary  chamber,  for  I  had,  with  a  sort  of 
instinctive  caution,  turned  the  key  when  I  closed 
the  door.  I  soon  calmed  down,  therefore,  into 
a  state  of  tranquillity  ;  from  that  into  a  drowsi- 
ness, and  finally  into  a  deep  sleep  ;  out  of  which 
I  did  not  awake,  until  the  housemaid,  with  her 
besom  and  her  matin  song,  came  to  put  the  room 
in  order.  She  stared  at  rinding  me  stretched 
upon  the  sofa ;  byt  I  presume  circumstances  of 
the  kind  were  not  uncommon  after  hunting  din- 
ners, in  her  master's  bachelor  establishment;  for 
she  went  on  with  her  song  and  her  work,  and  took 
no  farther  heed  of  me. 

I  had  an  unconquerable  repugnance  to  return 
to  my  chamber  ;  so  I  found  my  way  to  the  but- 
ler's quarters,  made  my  toilette  in  the  best  way 
circumstances  would  permit,  and  was  among  the 


84  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

first  to  appear  at  the  breakfast  table.  Our  break- 
fast was  a  substantial  fox-hunter's  repast,  and  the 
company  were  generally  assembled  at  it.  When 
ample  justice  had  been  done  to  the  tea,  coffee* 
cold  meats,  and  humming  ale,  for  all  these  were 
furnished  in  abundance,  according  to  the  tastes 
of  the  different  guests,  the  conversation  began  to 
break  out,  with  all  the  liveliness  and  freshness  of 
morning  mirth. 

"  But  who  is  the  hero  of  the  haunted  cham- 
ber ? — Who  has  seen  the  ghost  last  night  ?"  said 
the  inquisitive  gentleman,  rolling  his  lobster  eyes 
about  the  table. 

The  question  set  every  tongue  in  motion ;  a 
vast  deal  of  bantering  ;  criticizing  of  countenan- 
ces ;  of  mutual  accusation  and  retort  took  place. 
Some  had  drunk  deep,  and  some  were  unshaven, 
so  that  there  were  suspicious  faces  enough  in  the 
assembly.  I  alone  could  not  enter  with  ease  and 
vivacity  into  the  joke.  I  felt  tongue-tied — em- 
barrassed. A  recollection  of  what  I  had  seen  and 
felt  the  preceding  night  still  haunted  my  mind. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  mysterious  picture  still  held  a 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  £5 

thrall  upon  me.     I  thought  also  that  our  host's 
eye  was  turned  on  me  with  an  air  of  curiosity. 
In  short,  1  was  conscious  that  I  was  the  hero  of 
the  night,  and  felt  as  if  every  one  might  read  it  in 
my  looks. 

The  jokes,  however,  passed  over,  and  no  sus- 
picion seemed  to  attach  to  me.  1  was  just  con- 
gratulating myself  on  my  escape,  when  a  servant 
came  in,  saying,  that  the  gentleman  who  had  slept 
on  the  sofa  in  the  drawing  room,  had  left  his 
watch  under  one  of  the  pillows.  My  repeater 
was  in  his  hand. 

"  What!"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  "  did 
any  gentleman  sleep  on  the  sofa  ?" 

"  Soho  !  soho !  a  hare — a  hare !"  cried  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  flexible  nose. 

I  could  not  avoid  acknowledging  the  watch, 
and  was  rising  in  great  confusion,  when  a  bois- 
terous old  squire  who  sat  beside  me,  exclaimed, 
slapping  me  on  the  shoulder,  "  'Sblood,  lad! 
thou'rt  the  man  as  has  seen  the  ghost!" 

The  attention  of  the  company  was  immediate- 
ly turned  to  me ;  if  my  face  had  been  pale  the 

PART  I.  12 


86  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

moment  before,  it  now  glowed  almost  to  burn- 
ing. I  tried  to  laugh,  but  could  only  make  a 
grimace ;  and  found  all  the  muscles  of  my  face 
twitching  at  sixes  and  sevens,  and  totally  out  of 
all  controul. 

It  takes  but  little  to  raise  a  laugh  among  a  set 
of  fox-hunters.  There  was  a  world  of  merri- 
ment and  joking  at  my  expense;  and  as  I  ne- 
ver relished  a  joke  overmuch  when  it  was  at  my 
own  expense,  I  began  to  feel  a  little  nettled.  I 
tried  to  look  cool  and  calm  and  to  restrain  my 
pique ;  but  the  coolness  and  calmness  of  a  man 
in  a  passion  are  confounded  treacherous. 

Gentlemen,  said  I,  with  a  slight  cocking  of  the 
chin,  and  a. bad  attempt  at  a  smile,  this  is  all  very 
pleasant — ha !  ha ! — very  pleasant —  but  I'd  have 
you  know  I  am  as  little  superstitious  as  any  of  you 
— ha!  ha! — and  as  to  any  thing  like  timidity 
— you  may  smile  gentlemen — but  I  trust  there 

is  no  one  here  means  to  insinuate  that.  

As  to  a  room's  being  haunted,  I  repeat, 

gentlemen — ^growing  a  little  warm  at   seeing 
y 
a  cursed   grin    breaking   out   round    me) — as 

to  a  room's  being  haunted,   I   have    as  little 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE,  87 

faith  in  such  silly  stones  as  any  one.  But,  since 
you  put  the  matter  home  to  me,  I  will  say  that  I 
have  met  with  something  in  my  room  strange  and 
inexplicable  to  me — (a  shout  of  laughter .)  Gen- 
tlemen, I  am  serious — I  know  well  what  I  am 
saying — I  am  calm,  gentlemen,  (striking  my 
fist  upon  the  table) — by  heaven  I  am  calm*  I 
am  neither  trifling,  nor  do  I  wish  to  be  trifled  with 
— (the  laughter  of  the  company  suppressed  with 
ludicrous  attempts  at  gravity.)  There  is  a  pic- 
ture in  the  room  in  which  I  was  put  last  night, 
that  has  had  an  effect  upon  me  the  most  singu- 
lar and  incomprehensible. 

"  A  picture !"  said  the  old  gentleman  with 
the  haunted  head.  "  A  picture  !"  cried  the  nar- 
rator with  the  waggish  nose.  "  A  picture !  a 
picture  !"  echoed  several  voices.  Here  there 
was  an  ungovernable  peal  of  laughter. 

I  could  not  contain  myself.  I  started  up  from 
my  seat — looked  round  on  the  company  with 
fiery  indignation — thrust  both  my  hands  into  my 
pockets,  and  strode  up  to  one  of  the  windows, 
as  though  I  would  have  walked  through  it.  I 


THE    ADVENTURE    OF 

stopped  short ;  looked  out  upon  the  landscape 
without  distinguishing  a  feature  of  it ;  and  felt 
my  gorge  rising  almost  to  suffocation. 

Mine  host  saw  it  was  time  to  interfere.  He 
had  maintained  an  air  of  gravity  through  the  whole 
of  the  scene,  and  now  stepped  forth  as  if  to  shel- 
ter me  from  the  overwhelming  merriment  of  my 
companions. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  dislike  to  spoil 
sport,  but  you  have  had  your  laugh,  and  the  joke 
of  the  haunted  chamber  has  been  enjoyed.  I 
must  now  take  the  part  of  my  guest.  I  must 
not  only  vindicate  him  from  your  pleasantries, 
but  I  must  reconcile  him  to  himself,  for  I  sus- 
pect he  is  a  little  out  of  humour  with  his  own 
feelings  ;  and  above  all,  I  must  crave  his  pardon 
for  having  made  him  the  subject  of  a  kind  of  ex- 
periment. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  there  is  something  strange 
and  peculiar  in  the  chamber  to  which  our  friend 
was  shown  last  n|ght.  There  is  a  picture  which 
possesses  a  singular  and  mysterious  influence  ; 
and  with  which  there  is  connected  a  very  curi- 


THE    MYSTERIOUS    PICTURE.  89 

ous  story.  It  is  a  picture  to  which  I  attach  a 
value  from  a  variety  of  circumstances ;  and 
though  I  have  often  been  tempted  to  destroy  it, 
from  the  odd  and  uncomfortable  sensations  it 
produces  in  every  one  that  beholds  it ;  yet  I  have 
never  been  able  to  prevail  upon  myself  to  make 
the  sacrifice.  It  is  a  picture  I  never  like  to  look 
upon  myself;  and  which  is  held  in  awe  by  all 
my  servants.  I  have  therefore  banished  it  to  a 
room  but  rarely  used ;  and  should  have  had  it 
covered  last  night,  had  not  the  nature  of  our  con- 
versation, and  the  whimsical  talk  about  a  haunt- 
ed chamber  tempted  me  to  let  it  remain,  by  way 
of  experiment,  whether  a  stranger,  totally  unac- 
quainted with  its  story,  would  be  affected  by 
it." 

The  words  of  the  Baronet  had  turned  every 
thought  into  a  different  channel ;  all  were  anx- 
ious to  hear  the  story  of  the  mysterious  picture  : 
and  for  myself,  so  strongly  were  my  feelings  in- 
terested, that  I  forgot  to  feel  piqued  at  the  expe- 
riment which  my  host  had  made  upon  my  nerves, 
and  joined  eagerly  in  the  general  entreaty. 


90  THE   ADVENTURE    OF,   &C. 

As  the  morning  was  stormy,  and  precluded 
all  egress,  my  host  was  glad  of  any  means  of  en- 
tertaining his  company ;  so  drawing  his  arm 
chair  beside  the  fire,  he  began — 


THE  ADVENTURE 


or 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER 


MANY  years  since,  when  I  was  a  young  man, 
and  had  just  left  Oxford,  I  was  sent  on  the  grand 
tour  to  finish  my  education.  I  believe  my  pa- 
rents had  tried  in  vain  to  inoculate  me  with  wis- 
dom ;  so  they  sent  me  to  mingle  with  society,  in 
hopes  I  might  take  it  the  natural  way.  Such,  at 
least,  appears  to  be  the  reason  for  which  nine- 
tenths  of  our  youngsters  are  sent  abroad. 

In  the  course  of  my  tour  I  remained  some  time 
at  Venice.  The  romantic  character  of  the  plax;e 
delighted  me ;  I  was  very  much  amused  by  the 
air  of  adventure  and  intrigue  that  prevailed  in  this 
region  of  masks  and  gondolas ;  and  I  was  ex- 
ceedingly smitten  by  a  pair  of  languishing  black 
eyes,  that  played  upon  my  heart  from  under  an 
Italian  mantle.  So  I  persuaded  myself  that  I 


92  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

was  lingering  at  Venice  to  study  men  and  man- 
ners. At  least  I  persuaded  my  friends  so,  and 
that  answered  all  my  purpose.  Indeed,  I  was  a 
little  prone  to  be  struck  by  peculiarities  in  cha- 
racter and  conduct,  and  my  imagination  was  so 
full  of  romantic  associations  with  Italy,  that  I  was 
always  on  the  look  out  for  adventure. 

Every  thing  chimed  in  with  such  a  humour  in 
this  old  mermaid  of  a  city.  My  suite  of  apart- 
ments were  in  a  proud,  melancholy  palace  on  the 
grand  canal,  formerly  the  residence  of  a  Magni- 
fico,  and  sumptuous  with  the  traces  of  decayed 
grandeur.  My  gondolier  was  one  of  the  shrewd- 
est of  his  class,  active,  merry,  intelligent,  and, 
like  his  brethren,  secret  as  the  grave  ;  that  is  to 
say,  secret  to  all  the  world  except  his  master.  I 
had  not  had  him  a  week  before  he  put  me  behind 
all  the  curtains  in  Venice.  I  liked  the  silence  and 
mystery  of  the  place,  and  when  I  sometimes  saw 
from  my  window  a  black  gondola  gliding  mys- 
teriously along  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  with 
nothing  visible  but  its  little  glimmering  lantern,  I 
would  jump  into  my  own  zenduletto,  and  give  a 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  93 

signal  for  pursuit.  But  I  am  running  away  from 
my  subject  with  the  recollection  of  youthful  fol- 
lies, said  the  Baronet,  checking  himself,  "  let  me 
come  to  the  point." 

Among  my  familiar  resorts  was  a  Cassino  un- 
der the  Arcades  on  one  side  of  the  grand  square 
of  St.  Mark.  Here  I  used  frequently  to  lounge 
and  take  my  ice  on  those  warm  summer  nights 
when  in  Italy  every  body  lives  abroad  until  mor- 
ning. I  was  seated  here  one  evening,  when  a 
groupe  of  Italians  took  seat  at  a  table  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  saloon.  Their  conversation 
was  gay  and  animated,  and  carried  on  with  Ita- 
lian vivacity  and  gesticulation. 

I  remarked  among  them  one  young  man,  howv 
ever,  who  appeared  to  take  no  share,  and  find  no 
enjoyment  in  the  conversation  ;  though  he  seem.. 
ed  to  force  himself  to  attend  to  it.  He  was  tall 
and  slender,  and  of  extremely  prepossessing  ap- 
pearance. His  features  were  fine,  though  ema- 
ciated. He  had  a  profusion  of  black  glossy  hair 
that  curled  lightly  about  his  head,  and  contrasted 
with  the  extreme  paleness  of  his  countenance. 

PART  I.  13 


.94  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

His  brow  was  haggard  ;  deep  furrows  seemed  to 
have  been  ploughed  into  his  visage  by  care,  not 
by  age,  for  he  was  evidently  in  the  prime  of 
youth.  His  eye  was  full  of  expression  and  fire, 
but  wild  and  unsteady.  He  seemed  to  be  tor- 
mented by  some  strange  fancy  or  apprehension. 
In  spite  of  every  effort  to  fix  his  attention  on  the 
conversation  of  his  companions,  I  noticed  that 
every  now  and  then  he  would  turn  his  head  slow- 
ly round,  give  a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  and 
then  withdraw  it  with  a  sudden  jerk,  as  if  some- 
thing painful  had  met  his  eye.  This  was  repeat- 
ed at  intervals  of  about  a  minute  ;  and  he  appear- 
ed hardly  to  have  got  over  one  shock,  before  I 
saw  him  slowly  preparing  to  encounter  another. 
After  sitting  some  time  in  the  Cassino,  the  par- 
ty paid  for  the  refreshments  they  had  taken,  and 
departed,  The  young  man  was  the  last  to  leave 
the  saloon,  and  I  remarked  him  glancing  behind 
him  in  the  same  way,  just  as  he  passed  out  at  the 
door.  I  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  rise  and 
follow  him  ;  for  I  was  at  an  age  when  a  roman- 
tic feeling  of  curiosity  is  easily  awakened.  The 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  95 

party  walked  slowly  down  the  Arcades,  talking 
and  laughing  as  they  went.  They  crossed  the 
Piazzetta,  but  paused  in  the  middle  of  it  to  en- 
joy the  scene.  It  was  one  of  those  moonlight 
nights  so  brilliant  and  clear  in  the  pure  at- 
mosphere of  Italy.  The  moon-beams  streamed 
on  the  tall  tower  of  St.  Mark,  and  lighted  up 
the  magnificent  front  and  swelling  domes  of  the 
Cathedral.  The  party  expressed  their  delight  in 
animated  terms.  I  kept  my  eye  upon  the  young 
man.  He  alone  seemed  abstracted  and  self-oc- 
cupied, I  noticed  the  same  singular,  and  as  it 
were,  furtive  glance  over  the  shoulder  that  had 
attracted  my  attention  in  the  Cassino.  The 
party  moved  on,  and  I  followed  ;  they  passed 
along  the  walks  called  the  Broglio ;  turned  the 
corner  of  the  Ducal  palace,  arid  getting  into  a 
gondola,  glided  swiftly  away. 

The  countenance  and  conduct  of  this  young 
man  dwelt  upon  my  mind.  There  was  some- 
thing in  his  appearance  that  interested  me  >x- 
ceedingly.  I  met  him  a  day  or  two  after  in  a 
gallery  of  paintings.  He  was  evidently  a  con- 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

noisseur,  for  he  always  singled  out  the  most  mas- 
terly productions,  and  the  few  remarks  drawn 
from  him  by  his  companions  showed  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  the  art.  His  own  taste,  how- 
ever, ran  on  singular  extremes.  On  Salvator 
Rosa  in  his  most  savage  and  solitary  scenes ;  on 
Raphael,  Titian  and  Corregio  in  their  softest  de- 
lineations of  female  beauty.  On  these  he  would 
occasionally  gaze  with  transient  enthusiasm. 
But  this  seemed  only  a  momentary  forgetful  ness. 
Still  would  recur  that  cautious  glance  behind, 
and  always  quickly  withdrawn,  as  though  some- 
thing terrible  had  met  his  view. 

I  encountered  him  frequently  afterwards.  At 
the  theatre,  at  balls,  at  concerts ;  at  the  prome- 
nades in  the  gardens  of  San  Georgio ;  at  the 
grotesque  exhibitions  in  the  square  of  St.  Mark  ; 
among  the  throng  of  merchants  on  the  Exchange 
by  the  Rialto.  He  seemed,  in  fact,  to  seek 
crowds;  to  hunt  after  bustle  and  amusement; 
yet  never  to  take  any  interest  in  either  the  bu- 
siness or  gayety  of  the  scene.  Ever  an  air  of 
painful  thought,  of  wretched  abstraction ;  and 


THE  MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER.  97 

ever  that  strange  and  recurring  movement,  of 
glancing  fearfully  over  the  shoulder.  I  did  not 
know  at  first  but  this  might  be  caused  by  appre- 
hension of  arrest ;  or  perhaps  from  dread  of  as- 
sassination. But,  if  so,  why  should  he  go  thus 
continually  abroad  ;  why  expose  himself  at  all 
times  and  in  all  places  ? 

I  became  anxious  to  know  this  stranger. 
I  wras  drawn  to  him  by  that  romantic  sympathy 
that  sometimes  draws  young  men  towards  each 
other.  His  melancholy  threw  a  charm  about 
him  in  my  eyes,  which  was  no  doubt  heighten- 
ed by  the  touching  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance, and  the  manly  graces  of  his  person  ;  for 
manly  beauty  has  its  effect  even  upon  man.  I 
had  an  Englishman's  habitual  diffidence  and 
awkwardness  of  address  to  contend  with  ;  but 
I  subdued  it,  and  from  frequently  meeting  him 
in  the  Cassino,  gradually  edged  myself  into  his 
acquaintance.  1  had  no  reserve  on  his  part  to 
contend  with.  He  seemed  on  the  contrary  to 
court  society  ;  and  in  fact  to  seek  any  thing 
rather  than  be  alone. 


98  THE    ADVENTURE    OF 

When  he  found  I  really  took  an  interest  in 
him  he  threw  himself  entirely  upon  my  friend- 
ship. He  clung  to  me  like  a  drowning  man.  He 
would  walk  with  me  for  hours  up  and  down  the 
place  of  St.  Marks — or  he  would  sit  until  night 
was  far  advanced  in  my  apartment  ;  he  took 
rooms  under  the  same  roof  with  me  ;  and  his 
constant  request  was,  that  I  would  permit  him, 
when  it  did  not  incommode  me,  to  sit  by  me  in 
my  saloon.  It  was  not  that  he  seemed  to  take  a 
particular  delight  in  my  conversation  ;  but  rather 
that  he  craved  the  vicinity  of  a  human  being  ;  and 
above  all,  of  a  being  that  sympathized  with  him. 
u  I  have  often  heard,"  said  he,  "  of  the  sincerity  of 
Englishmen — thank  God  I  have  one  at  length 
for  a  friend  !" 

Yet  he  never  seemed  disposed  to  avail  himself 
of  my  sympathy  other  than  by  mere  companion- 
ship. He  never  sought  to  unbosom  himself  t© 
me  ;  there  appeared  to  be  a  settled  corroding  an- 
guish in  his  bosom  that  neither  could  be  soothed 
"  by  silence  nor  by  speaking."  A  devouring  me- 
lancholy preyed  upon  his  heart,  and  seemed  to 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  99 

be  drying  up  the  very  blood  in  his  veins.  It 
was  not  a  soft  melancholy — the  disease  of  the 
affections  ;  but  a  parching  withering  agony.  I 
could  see  at  times  that  his  mouth  was  dry  and 
feverish  ;  he  almost  panted  rather  than  breathed  ; 
his  eyes  \vere  bloodshot  ;  his  cheeks  pale  and 
livid  ;  with  now  and  then  faint  streaks  athwart 
them — baleful  gleams  of  the  fire  that  was  consu- 
ming his  heart.  As  my  arm  was  within  his,  1 
felt  him  press  it  at  times  with  a  convulsive  mo- 
tion to  his  side ;  his  hands  would  clinch  them- 
selves involuntarily,  and  a  kind  of  shudder  would 
run  through  his  frame.  I  reasoned  with  him 
about  his  melancholy,  and  sought  to  draw  from, 
him  the  cause — he  shrunk  from  all  confiding. 
"  Do  riot  seek  to  know  it,"  said  he,  "you  could 
not  relieve  it  if  you  knew  it ;  you  would  not  even 
seek  to  relieve  it — on  the  contrary,  I  should  lose 
your  sympathy  ;  and  that"  said  he,  pressing  my 
hand  convulsively,  "  that  I  feel  has  become  too 
dear  to  me  to  risk." 

I  endeavoured  to  awaken  hope  within  him. 
He  was  young  ;  life  had  a  thousand  pleasures 


100  THE  ADVENTURE  OT 

in  store  for  him  ;  there  is  a  healthy  reaction  in 
the  youthful  heart  ;  it  medicines  its  own 
wounds — "Come,  come"  said  I,  "  there  is  no 
grief  so  great  that  youth  cannot  outgrow  it." — 
"  No !  no !"  said  he,  clinching  histeeth,  and  striking 
repeatedly,  with  the  energy  of  despair,  upon  his 
bosom — "  It  is  here — here — deep  rooted  ;  drain- 
ing my  heart's  blood.  It  grows  and  grows,  while 
my  heart  withers  and  withers  !  I  have  a  dread- 
ful monitor  that  gives  me  no  repose — that  fol- 
lows me  step  by  step  ;  and  will  follow  me  step 
by  step,  until  it  pushes  me  into  my  grave  !" 

As  he  said  this  he  gave  involuntarily  one  of  those 
fearful  glances  over  his  shoulder,  and  shrunk 
back  with  more  than  usual  horror.  1  could 
not  resist  the  temptation,  to  allude  to  this  move- 
ment, which  I  supposed  to  be  some  mere  mala- 
dy of  the  nerves.  The  moment  I  mentioned  it 
his  face  became  crimsoned  and  convulsed — he 
grasped  me  by  both  hands  :  "  For  God's  sake  ex- 
claimed he,"  with  a  piercing  agony  of  voice — 
never  allude  to  that  again — "  let  us  avoid  this 
subject,  my  friend  :  you  cannot  relieve  me, 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  101 

indeed  you  cannot  relieve  me  ;  but  you  may  add 
to  the  torments  I  suffer ; — at  some  future  day  you 
shall  know  all." 

I  never  resumed  the  subject  ;  for  however 
much  my  curiosity  might  be  aroused,  I  felt  too 
true  a  compassion  for  his  sufferings  to  increase 
them  by  rny  intrusion.  I  sought  various  ways 
to  divert  his  mind,  and  to  arouse  him  from  the 
constant  meditations  in  which  he  was  plunged. 
He  saw  my  efforts,  and  seconded  them  as  far 
as  in  his  power,  for  there  was  nothing  moody  or 
wayward  in  his  nature  ;  on  the  contrary,  there 
was  something  frank,  generous,  unassuming,  in 
his  whole  deportment.  All  the  sentiments  that 
he  uttered  were  noble  and  lofty.  He  claimed 
no  indulgence  ;  he  asked  no  toleration.  He 
seemed  content  to  carry  his  load  of  misery  in  si- 
lence, and  only  sought  to  carry  it  by  my  side. 
There  was  a  mute  beseeching  manner  about 
him,  as  if  he  craved  companionship  as  a  chari- 
table boon  ;  and  a  tacit  thankfulness  in  his 
looks,  as  if  he  felt  grateful  to  me^for  not  repul- 
sing him. 

PART  f.  14. 


102  THE  ADVEISTURE  OF 

I  felt  this  melancholy  to  be  infectious.  It  stole 
over  my  spirits  ;  interfered  with  all  my  gay  pur- 
suits, and  gradually  saddened  my  life  ;  yet  I  could 
not  prevail  upon  myself  to  shake  off  a  being  who 
seemed  to  hang  upon  me  for  support.  In  truth, 
the  generous  traits  of  character  that  beamed 
through  all  this  gloom  had  penetrated  to  my  heart. 
His  bounty  was  lavish  and  open-handed.  His 
charity  melting  and  spontaneous.  Not  confined 
to  mere  donations,  which  often  humiliate  as  much 
as  they  relieve.  The  tone  of  his  voice,  the  beam 
of  his  eye,  enhanced  every  gift,  and  surprised  the 
poor  suppliant  with  that  rarest  and  sweetest  of 
charities,  the  charity  not  merely  of  the  hand  but 
of  the  heart.  Indeed,  his  liberality  seemed  to 
have  something  in  it  of  self-abasement  and  ex- 
piation. He  humbled  himself,  in  a  manner,  be- 
fore the  mendicant.  "  What  right  have  I  to  ease 
and  affluence,"  would  he  murmur  to  himself, 
"  when  innocence  wanders  in  misery  and  rags  ?" 

The  Carnival  time  arrived.  I  had  hoped  that 
the  gay  scenes  which  then  presented  themselves 
might  have  some  cheering  effect.  I  mingled  with 


THE  MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER.  103 

him  ill  the  motley  throng  that  crowded  the  place 
of  St.  Mark.  We  frequented  operas,  masquerades, 
balls.  All  in  vain.  The  evil  kept  growing  on 
him  ;  he  became  more  and  more  haggard  and  agi- 
tated. Often,  after  we  had  returned  from  one 
of  these  scenes  of  revelry,  I  have  entered  his  room, 
and  found  him  lying  on  his  face  on  the  sofa  :  his 
hands  clinr.hed  in  his  fine  hair,  and  his  whole 
countenance  bearing  traces  of  the  convulsions  of 
his  mind. 

The  Carnival  pass*ed  away ;  the  season  of  Lent 
succeeded  ;  Passion  week  arrived.  We.at tended 
one  evening  a  solemn  service  in  one  of  the 
churches  ;  in  the  course  of  which,  a  grand  piece 
of  vocal  and  instrumental  music  was  performed 
relating  to  the  death  of  our  Saviour. 

I  had  remarked  that  he  was  always  power- 
fully affected  by  music  ;  on  this  occasion  he  was 
so  in  an  extraordinary  degree.  As  the  pealing 
notes  swelled  through  the  lofty  aisles,  he  seemed 
to  kindle  up  with  fervour.  His  eyes  rolled  up^ 
wards,  until  nothing  but  the  whites  were  visible; 
his  hands  were  clasped  together,  until  the  fingers 


104  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

were  deeply  imprinted  in  the  flesh.  When  the 
music  expressed  the  dying  agony,,  his  face  gra- 
dually sunk  upon  his  knees  ;  and  at  the  touching 
words  resounding  through  the  church  "  Jesu 
mori,"  sobs  burst  from  him  uncontrolled.  I  had 
never  seen  him  weep  before;  his  had  alv\ays 
been  agony  rather  than  sorrow.  I  augured  well 
from  the  circumstance.  I  let  him  weep  on  un- 
interrupted. When  the  service  was  ended,  we 
left  the  church.  He  hung  on  my  arm  as  we 
walked  homewards,  with  s6mething  of  a  softer 
and  more  subdued  manner  ;  instead  of  that  ner- 
vous agitation  I  had  been  accustomed  to  witness. 
He  alluded  to  the  service  we  had  heard.  "  Mu- 
sic," said  he,  "  is  indeed  the  voice  of  heaven  ; 
never  before  have  I  felt  more  impressed  by  the 
story  of  the  atonement  of  our  Saviour.  Yes,  my 
friend,"  said  he,  clasping  his  hands  with  a  kind 
of  transport,  u  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth." 
We  parted  for  the  night.  His  room  was  not 
far  from  mine,  and  I  heard  him  for  some  time 
busied  in  it.  I  fell  asleep,  but  was  awakened 
before  daylight.  The  young  man  stood  by  my 


THE  MYSTERIOUS   STRANGER.  105 

bed  side,  dressed  for  travelling.  He  held  a  sealed 
pacquet  and  a  large  parcel  in  his  hand,  which  he 
laid  on  the  table.  "Farewell, .my  friend,"  said 
he,  "  I  am  about  to  set  forth  on  a  long  journey  ; 
but,  before  I  go,  I  leave  with  you  these  remem- 
brances. In  this  pacquet  you  will  find  the  par- 
ticulars of  my  story.  When  you  read  them,  I 
shall  be  far  away  ;  do  not  remember  me  with 
aversion.  You  have  been,  indeed,  a  friend  to  me. 

You  have  poured  oil  into  a  broken  heart, — but 

• 
you  could  not  heal  it. — Farewell — let  me  kiss 

your  hand — I  am  unworthy  to  embrace  you." 
He  sunk  on  his  knees,  seized  my  hand  in  despite 
of  my  efforts  to  the  contrary,  and  covered  it  with 
kisses.  I  was  so  surprised  by  all  this  scene  that 
I  had  not  been  able  to  say  a  word. 

But  we  shall  meet  again,  said  I,  hastily,  as  I 
saw  him  hurrying  towards  the  door. 

"  Never — never  in  this  world  !"  said  he  so- 
lemnly. He  sprang  once  more  to  my  bed  side 
— seized  my  hand,  pressed  it  to  his  heart  and  to 
his  lips,  and  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Here  the  Baronet  paused.     He  seemed  lost 


106  THE  ADVENTURE  OF 

in  thought,  and  sat  looking  upon  the  floor  and 
drumming  with  his  fingers  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair. 

"And.  did  this  mysterious  personage  return  ?" 
said  the  inquisitive  gentleman.  "  Never  !"  re- 
plied the  Baronet,  with  a  pensive  shake  of  the 
head  :  "  I  never  saw  him  again."  And  pray 
what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  picture  ?  inqui- 
red the  old  gentleman  with  the  nose — "  True  !" 
said  the  questioner — "  Is  it  the  portrait  of  this 
crack-brained  Italian  ?"  "  No!"  said  the  Baro- 
net, drily,  not  half  liking  the  appellation  given 
to  his  hero  ;  but  this  picture  was  inclosed  in  the 
parcel  he  left  with  me.  The  sealed  pacquet  con- 
tained its  explanation.  There  was  a  request  on 
the  outside  that  I  would  not  open  it  until  six 
months  had  elapsed.  I  kept  my  promise,  in 
spite  of  my  curiosity,  I  have  a  translation  of  it 
by  me,  and  had  meant  to  read  it,  by  way  of  ac- 
counting for  the  mystery  of  the  chamber,  but  I 
fear  I  have  already  detained  the  company  too  long, 

Here  there  was  a  general  wish  expressed  to 
Save  the  manuscript  read ;  particularly  on  the 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  107 

part  of  the  inquisitive  gentleman.  So  the  worthy 
Baronet  drew  out  a  fairly  written  manuscript,  and 
wiping  his  spectacles,  read  aloud  the  following 
story : — 


THE  STORY 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN. 


I  WAS  born  at  Naples.  My  parents,  though 
of  noble  rank,  were  limited  in  fortune,  or  rather 
my  father  was  ostentatious  beyond  his  means, 
and  expended  so  much  in  his  palace,  his  equi- 
page, and  his  retinue,  that  he  was  continually 
straightened  in  his  pecuniary  circumstances.  I 
was  a  younger  son,  and  looked  upon  with  in- 
difference by  my  father,  who,  from  a  principle 
of  family  pride,  wished  to  leave  all  his  property 
to  my  elder  brother. 

I  showed,  when  quite  a  child,  an  extreme 
sensibility.  Every  thing  affected  me  violently. 
While  yet  an  infant  in  my  mother's  arms,  and 
before  I  had  learnt  to  talk,  I  could  be  wrought 
upon  to  a  wonderful  degree  of  anguish  or  de- 
light by  the  power  of  music.  As  I  grew  older 

PART  I.  ft 


110  THE  STORY  OF 

my  feelings  remained  equally  acute,  and  I  was 
easily  transported  into  paroxysms  of  pleasure 
or  rage.  It  was  the  amusement  of  my  relatives 
and  of  the  domestics  to  play  upon  this  irritable 
temperament.  I  was  moved  to  tears,  tickled  to 
laughter,  provoked  to  fury,  for  the  entertainment 
of  company,  who  were  amused  by  such  a  tem- 
pest of  mighty  passion  in  a  pigmy  frame.  They 
little  thought,  or  perhaps  little  heeded  the  dan- 
gerous sensibilities  they  were  fostering.  I  thus 
became  a  little  creature  of  passion,  before  reason 
was  developed.  In  a  short  time  I  grew  too  old 
to  be  a  plaything,  and  then  I  became  a  torment. 
The  tricks  arid  passions  I  had  been  teased  into 
became  irksome,  and  I  was  disliked  by  my 
teachers  for  the  very  lessons  they  had  taught  me. 
My  mother  died  ;  and  my  power  as  a  spoiled 
child  was  at  an  end.  There  was  no  longer  any 
necessity  to  humour  or  tolerate  trie,  for  there 
was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  it,  as  I  was  no  fa- 
vourite of  my  father.  I  therefore  experienced 
the  fate  of  a  spoiled  child  in  such  situation,  and 
was  neglected,  or  noticed  only  to  be  crossed  and 


THE    YOUNG    ITALIAN.  Ill 

contradicted.  Such  was  the  early  treatment  of 
a  heart,  which,  if  I  am  judge  of  it  at  all,  was  na- 
turally disposed  to  the  extremes  of  tenderness 
and  affection. 

My  father,  as  I  have  already  said,  never  liked 
me — in  fact  he  never  understood  me  ;  he  looked 
upon  me  as  wilful  and  waywrard,  as  deficient  in 
natural  affection  : — it  was  the  stateliness  of  his 
own  manner  ;  the  loftiness  and  grandeur  of  his 
own  look  that  had  repelled  me  from  his  arms.'  I 
always  pictured  him  to  myself  as  I  had  seen  him 
clad  in  his  senatorial  robes,  rustling  with  pomp 
and  pride.  The  magnificence  of  his  person  had 
daunted  my  strong  imagination.  I  could  never 
approach  him  with  the  confiding  affection  of  a 
child. 

My  father's  feelings  were  wrapped  up  in  my 
elder  brother.  He  was  to  be  the  inheritor  of  the 
family  title  and  the  family  dignity,  and  every 
thing  was  sacrificed  to  him — I,  as  well  as  every 
thing  else.  It  was  determined  to  devote  me  to 
the  church,  that  so  my  humours  and  myself 
might  be  removed  out  of  the  way,  either  of  task- 


112  THE  STORY  OF 

ing  my  father's  time  and  trouble,  or  interfering 
with  the  interests  of  my  brother.  At  an  early  age, 
therefore,  before  my  mind  had  dawned  upon  the 
world  and  its  delights,  or  known  any  thing  of  it 
beyond  the  precincts  of  my  father's  palace,  1  was 
sent  to  a  convent,  the  superior  of  which  was  my 
uncle,  and  was  confided  entirely  to  his  care. 

My  uncle  was  a  man  totally  estranged  from 
the  world ;  he  had  never  relished,  for  he  had 
never  tasted  its  pleasures  ;  and  he  deemed  rigid 
self-denial  as  the  great  basis  of  Christian  virtue. 
He  considered  every  one's  temperament  like  his 
own  ;  or  at  least  he  made  them  conform  to  it. 
His  character  and  habits  had  an  influence  over 
the  fraternity  of  which  he  was  superior  A  more 
gloomy  saturnine  set  of  beings  were  never  as- 
sembled together.  The  convent,  too,  was  calcu- 
lated to  awaken  sad  and  solitary  thoughts.  It 
was  situated  in  a  gloomy  gorge  of  those  moun- 
tains away  south  of  Vesuvius.  All  distant  views 
were  shut  out  by  sterile  volcanic  heights.  A 
mountain  stream  raved  beneath  its  walls,  and 
eagles  screamed  about  its  turrets. 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  113 

I  had  been  sent  to  this  place  at  so  tender  an 
age  as  soon  to  lose  all  distinct  recollection  of  the 
scenes  I  had  left  behind.  As  my  mind  ex- 
panded, therefore,  it  formed  its  idea  of  the  world 
from  the  convent  and  its  vicinity,  and  a  dreary 
world  it  appeared  to  me.  An  early  tinge  of  me- 
lancholy was  thus  infused  into  my  character  ; 
and  the  dismal  stories  of  the  monks,  about  devils 
and  evil  spirits,  with  which  they  affrighted  my 
young  imagination,  gave  me  a  tendency  to  super- 
stition, which  I  could  never  effectually  shake  off. 
They  took  the  same  delight  to  work  upon  my 
ardent  feelings  that  had  been  so  mischievously 
exercised  by  my  father's  household. 

I  can  recollect  the  horrors  with  which  they 
fed  my  heated  fancy  during  an  eruption  of  Ve- 
suvius. We  were  distant  from  that  volcano, 
with  mountains  between  us  ;  but  its  convulsive 
throes  shook  the  solid  foundations  of  nature. 
Earthquakes  threatened  to  topple  down  our  con- 
vent towers.  A  lurid,  baleful  light  hung  in  the 
heavens  at  night,  and  showers  of  ashes,  borne  by 
the  wind,  fell  in  our  narrow  valley.  The  monks 


114         ,  THE  STORY  OF 

talked  of  the  earth  being  honey-combed  beneath 
us ;  of  streams  of  molten  lava  raging  through 
its  veins ;  of  caverns  of  sulphurous  flames  roar- 
ing in  the  centre,  the  abodes  of  demons  and  the 
damned  ;  of  fiery  gulfs  ready  to  yawn  beneath 
our  feet.  All  these  tales  were  told  to  the  dole- 
ful accompaniment  of  the  mountain's  thunders, 
whose  low  bellowing  made  the  walls  of  our  con- 
vent vibrate. 

One  of  the  monks  had  been  a  painter,  but 
had  retired  from  the  world,  and  embraced 
this  dismal  life  in  expiation  of  some  crime.  He 
was  a  melancholy  man,  who  pursued  his  art  in 
the  solitude  of  his  cell,  but  made  it  a  source  of 
penance  to  him.  His  employment  was  to  por- 
tray, either  on  canvass  or  in  waxen  models,  the 
human  face  and  human  form,  in  the  agonies  of 
d'-ath,  and  in  all  the  stages  of  dissolution  and  de- 
cay. The  fearful  mysteries  of  the  charnel  house 
were  unfolded  in  his  labours — the  loathsome 

banquet  of  the  beetle  and  the  worm. 1  turn 

with  shuddering  even  from  the  recollection  of 
his  works.  Yet,  at  the  time,  my  strong  but  ill- 


tHE  YOUNG  ITALfAN.  %        115 

directed  imagination  seized  with  ardour  upon 
his  instructions  in  his  art.  Any  thing  was  a  va- 
riety from  the  dry  studies  and  monotonous  duties 
of  the  cloister.  In  a  little  while  I  became  ex- 
pert with  my  pencil,  and  my  gloomy  productions 
were  thought  worthy  of  decorating  some  of  the 
altars  of  the  chapel. 

In  this  dismal  way  was  a  creature  of  feeling 
and  fancy  brought  up.  Every  thing  genial  and 
amiable  in  my  nature  was  repressed,  and  nothing 
brought  out  but  what  was  unprofitable  and  ungra- 
cious. I  was  ardent  in  my  temperament ;  quick, 
mercurial,  impetuous,  formed  to  be  a  creature 
all  love  and  adoration  ;  but  a  leaden  hand  was 
laid  on  all  my  finer  qualities.  I  was  taught  no- 
thing but  fear  an'd  hatred.  I  hated  my  uncle,  I 
hated  the  monks,  I  hated  the  convent  in  which  I 
was  immured.  I  hated  the  world,  and  I  almost 
hated  myself,  for  being,  as  I  supposed,  so  hating 
and  hateful  an  animal. 

When  I  had  nearly  attained  the  age  of  sixteenr 
I  was  suffered,  on  one  occasion,  to  accompany 
one  of  the  brethren  on  a  mission  to  a  distant 


116  tHE  STORY  OF 

part  of  the  country.  We  soon  left  behind  us  the 
gloomy  valley  in  which  I  had  been  pent  up  for 
so  many  years,  and  after  a  short  journey  among 
the  mountains,  emerged  upon  the  voluptuous 
landscape  that  spreads  itself  about  the  Bay  of 
Naples.  Heavens  !  how  transported  was  I,  when 
I  stretched  my  gaze  over  a  vast  reach  of  delicious 
sunny  country,  gay  with  groves  and  vineyards ; 
with  Vesuvius  rearing  its  forked  summit  to  my 
right;  the  blue  Mediterranean  to  my  left,  with 
its  enchanting  coast,  studded  with  shining  towns 
and  sumptuous  villas;  and  Naples,  my  native 
Naples,  gleaming  far,  far  in  the  distance. 

Good  God  !  was  this  the  lovely  world  from 
which  I  had  been  excluded  !  I  had  reached  that 
age  when  the  sensibilities  are  in  all  their  bloom 
and  freshness.  Mine  had  been  checked  and  chil- 
led/ They  now  burst  forth  with  the  suddenness 
of  a  retarded  spring.  My  heart,  hitherto  unna- 
turally shrunk  up,  expanded  into  a  riot  of  vague 
but  delicious  emotions.  The  beauty  of  nature 
intoxicated,  bewildered  me.  The  song  of  the 
peasants  ;  their  cheerful  looks ;  their  happy  avo- 


THE  VOTING  ITALIAN.  117 

cations;  the  picturesque  gayety  of  their  dresses; 
their  rustic  music ;  their  dances  ;  all  broke  upon 
me  like  witchcraft.  My  soul  responded  to  the 
music ;  my  heart  danced  in  my  bosom.  All  the 
men  appeared  amiable,  all  the  women  lovely. 

I  returned  to  the  convent,  that  is  to  say,  my 
body  returned,  but  my  heart  and  soul  never  en- 
tered there  again.  I  could  not  forget  this  glimpse 
of  a  beautiful  and  a  happy  world ;  a  world  so 
suited  to  my  natural  character.  I  had  felt  so 
happy  while  in  it ;  so  different  a  being  from  what 
I  felt  myself  when  in  the  convent — that  tomb  of 
the  living.  I  contrasted  the  countenances  of  the 
beings  I  had  seen,  full  of  fire  and  freshness  and 
enjoyment,  with  the  pallid,  leaden,  lack-lustre 
visages  of  the  monks ;  the  music  of  the  dance, 
with  the  droning  chant  of  the  chapel.  I  had 
before  found  the  exercises  of  the  cloister  weari- 
some ;  they  now  became  intolerable.  The  dull 
round  of  duties  wore  away  my  spirit ;  my  nerves 
became  irritated  by  the  fretful  tinkling  of  the  con- 
vent bell ;  evermore  dinging  among  the  moun- 
tain echoes ;  evermore  calling  me  from  my  re- 

PART  f.  1C 


.118  THE  STORY  OF 

pose  at  night,  my  pencil  by  day,  to  attend  to  some 
tedious  and  mechanical  ceremony  of  devotion. 

I  was  not  of  a  nature  to  meditate  long,  with- 
out putting  my  thoughts  into  action.  My  spirit 
had  been  suddenly  aroused,  and  was  now  all 
awake  within  me.  1  watched  my  opportunity, 
fled  from  the  convent,  and  made  my  way  on  foot 
to  Naples.  As  I  entered  its  gay  and  crowded 
streets,  and  beheld  the  variety  and  stir  of  life 
around  me,  the  luxury  of  palaces,  the  splendour 
of  equipages,  and  the  pantomimic  animation  of 
the  motley  populace,  I  seemed  as  if  awakened  to 
a  world  of  enchantment,  and  solemnly  vowed 
that  nothing  should  force  me  back  to  the  mono- 
tony of  the  cloister. 

I  had  to  inquire  my  way  to  my  father's  palace, 
for  I  had  been  so  young  on  leaving  it,  that  I 
knew  not  its  situation.  I  found  some  difficulty 
in  getting  admitted  to  my  father's  presence,  for 
the  domestics  scarcely  knew  that  there  was  such 
a  being  as  myself  in  existence,  and  my  monastic 
dress  did  not  operate  in  my  favour.  Even  my 
father  entertained  no  recollection  of  my  person. 


THE    YOUNG    ITALIAN.  119 

1  told  him  my  name,  threw  myself  at  his  feet, 
implored  his  forgiveness,  and  entreated  that  I 
might  not  be  sent  back  to  the  convent. 

He  received  me  with  the  condescension  of  a 
patron  rather  than  the  kindness  of  a  parent.  He 
listened  patiently,  but  coldly  to  my  tale  of  mo- 
nastic grievances  and  disgusts,  and  promised  to 
think  what  else  could  be  done  for  me.  This 
coldness  blighted  and  drove  back  all  the  frank 
affection  of  my  nature  that  was  ready  to  spring 
forth  at  the  least  warmth  of  parental  kindness. 
All  my  early  feelings  towards  my  father  revived  ; 
I  again  looked  up  to  him  as  the  stately  magnifi- 
cent being  that  had  daunted  my  childish  imagi- 
nation, and  felt  as  if  I  had  no  pretensions  to  his 
sympathies.  My  brother  engrossed  all  his  care 
and  love  ;  he  inherited  his  nature,  and  carried 
himself  towards  me  with  a  protecting  rather 
than  a  fraternal  air.  It  wounded  my  pride, 
which  was  great.  I  could  brook  condescension 
from  my  father,  for  I  looked  up  to  him  with  awe 
as  a  superior  being  ;  but  I  could  not  brook  pa- 
tronage from  a  brother,  who,  I  felt,  was  intellec- 


120  THE  STORY  OF 

tually  my  inferior.  The  servants  perceived  that 
I  was  an  unwelcome  intruder  in  the  paternal 
mansion,  and,  menial-like,  they  treated  me  with 
neglect.  Thus  baffled  at  every  point  ;  my  affec- 
tions outraged  wherever  they  would  attach 
themselves,  I  became  sullen,  silent  and  despond- 
ing. My  feelings  driven  back  upon  myself, 
entered  and  preyed  upon  my  own  heart.  I  re- 
tnained  for  some  days  an  unwelcome  guest 
rather  than  a  restored  son  in  my  father's  house. 
I  was  doomed  never  to  be  properly  known  there. 
I  was  made,  by  wrong  treatment,  strange  even 
to  myself;  and  they  judged  of  me  from  my 
strangeness. 

I  was  startled  one  day  at  the  sight  of  one  of 
the  monks  of  my  convent,  gliding  out  of  my 
father's  room.  He  saw  me,  but  pretended  not 
to  notice  me  ;  and  this  very  hypocrisy  made  me 
suspect  something.  I  had  become  sore  and  sus- 
ceptible in  my  feelings ;  every  thing  inflicted  a 
wound  on  them.  In  this  state  of  mind  I  was 
treated  with  marked  disrespect  by  a  pampered 
minion,  the  favourite  servant  of  my  father.  All 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  121 

the  pride  and  passion  of  my  nature  rose  in  an 
instant,  and  1  struck  him  to  the  earth. 

My  father  was  passing  by  ;  he  stopped  not  to 
inquire  the  reason,  nor  indeed  could  he  read  the 
long  course  of  mental  sufferings  which  were  the 
real  cause.  He  rebuked  me  with  anger  and 
scorn  ;  he  summoned  all  the  haughtiness  of  his 
nature,  and  grandeur  of  his  look,  to  give  weight 
to  the  contumely  with  which  he  treated  me.  I 
felt  I  had  not  deserved  it — I  felt  that  I  was  not 
appreciated — I  felt  that  I  had  that  within  me 
which  merited  better  treatment ;  my  heart  swell- 
ed against  a  father's  injustice.  I  broke  through 
my  habitual  awe  of  him.  I  replied  to  him  with 
impatience ;  my  hot  spirit  flushed  in  my  cheek  and 
kindled  in  my  eye,  but  my  sensitive  heart  swelled 
as  quickly,  and  before  I  had  half  vented  my  pas- 
sion I  felt  it  suffocated  and  quenched  in  my  tears. 
My  father  was  astonished  and  incensed  at  this 
turning  of  the  worm,  and  ordered  me  to  my 
chamber.  I  retired  in  silence,  choaking  with 
contending  emotions. 


122  THE  STORY  OF 

I  had  not  been  long  there  when  I  overheard 
voices  in  an  adjoining  apartment.  It  was  a  con- 
sultation betwen  my  father  and  the  monk,  about 
the  means  of  getting  me  back  quietly  to  the  con- 
vent. My  resolution  was  taken.  I  had  no  lon- 
ger a  home  nor  a  father.  That  very  night  I  left 
the  paternal  roof.  I  got  on  board  a  vessel  about 
making  sail  from  the  harbour,  and  abandoned 
myself  to  the  wide  world.  No  matter  to  what 
port  she  steered  ;  any  part  of  so  beautiful  a  world 
was  better  than  my  convent.  No  matter  where 
I  was  cast  by  fortune  ;  any  place  would  be  more 
a  home  to  me  than  the  home  I  had  left  behind. 
The  vessel  was  bound  to  Genoa.  We  arrived 
there  after  a  voyage  of  a  few  days. 

As  I  entered  the  harbour,  between  the  moles 
which  embrace  it,  and  beheld  the  amphitheatre 
of  palaces  and  churches  and  splendid  gardens, 
rising  one  above  another,  I  felt  at  once  its  title 
to  the  appellation  of  Genoa  the  Superb.  I  landed 
on  the  mole  an  utter  stranger,  without  knowing 
what  to  do,  or  whither  to  direct  my  steps.  No 
matter ;  I  was  released  from  the  thraldom  of  the 


THE    YOUNG  ITALIAN. 

convent  and  the  humiliations  of  home  !  When  I 
traversed  the  Strada  Balbi  and  the  Strada  Nuova, 
those  streets  of  palaces,  and  gazed  at  the  won- 
ders of  architecture  around  me  ;  when  I  wander- 
ed at  close  of  day,  amid  a  gay  throng  of  the 
brilliant  and  the  beautiful,  through  the  green  al- 
leys of  the  Aqua  Verdi,  or  among  the  colonnades 
and  terraces  of  the  magnificent  Doria  Gardens  ; 
I  thought  it  impossible  to  be  ever  otherwise  than 
happy  in  Genoa. 

A  few  days  sufficed  to  show  me  my  mistake. 
My  scanty  purse  was  exhausted,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  my  life  I  experienced  the  sordid  dis- 
tress of  penury.  I  had  never  known  the  want 
of  money,  and  had  never  adverted  to  the  possi- 
bility of  such  an  evil.  I  was  ignorant  of  the 
world  and  all  its  ways  ;  and  when  first  the  idea 
of  destitution  came  over  my  mind  its  effect  was 
withering.  I  was  wandering  pensively  through 
the  streets  which  no  longer  delighted  my  eyes, 
when  chance  led  my  steps  into  the  magnificent 
church  of  the  Annunciata. 

A  celebrated  painter  of  the  day  was  at  that 


124  THE    STORY    OF 

moment  superintending  the  placing  of  one  of  his 
pictures  over  an  altar.  The  proficiency  which 
I  had  acquired  in  his  art  during  my  residence  in 
the  convent  had  made  me  an  enthusiastic  ama- 
teur. I  was  struck,  at  the  first  glance,  with 
the  painting.  It  was  the  face  of  a  Madonna. 
So  innocent,  so  lovely,  such  a  divine  expression 
of  maternal  tenderness  !  I  lost  for  the  moment 
all  recollection  of  myself  in  the  enthusiasm  of  my 
art.  I  clasped  my  hands  together,  and  uttered 
an  ejaculation  of  delight.  The  painter  pexceiv- 
ed  my  emotion.  He  was  flattered  and  gratified 
by  it.  My  air  and  manner  pleased  him,  and  he 
accosted  me.  I  felt  too  much  the  want  of  friend- 
ship to  repel  the  advances  of  a  stranger,  and 
there  was  something  in  this  one  so  benevolent 
and  winning  that  in  a  moment  he  gained  my 
confidence. 

I  told  him  my  story  and  my  situation,  conceal- 
ing only  my  name  and  rank.  He  appeared 
strongly  interested  by  my  recital ;  invited  me  to 
his  house,  and  from  that  time  1  became  his  favour- 
ite pupil.  He  thought  he  perceived  in  me  ex- 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN. 

iraordinary  talents  for  the  art,  and  his  enco- 
miums awakened  all  my  ardour.  What  a  bliss- 
ful period  of  my  existence  was  it  that  I  passed 
beneath  his  roof.  Another  being  seemed  created 
within  me,  or  rather,  all  that  was  amiable  and 
excellent  was  drawn  out.  I  was  as  recluse  as 
ever  1  had  been  at  the  convent,  but  how  differ- 
ent was  my  seclusion.  My  time  was  spent  in 
storing  my  mind  with  lofty  and  poetical  ideas ; 
in  meditating  on  all  that  was  striking  and  noble 
in  history  or  fiction  ;  in  studying  and  tracing 
all  that  was  sublime  and  beautiful  in  nature.  I 
was  always  a  visionary  imaginative  being,  but 
now  my  reveries  and  imaginings  all  elevated  me 
to  rapture. 

I  looked  up  to  my  master  as  to  a  benevolent 
genius  that  had  opened  to  me  a  region  of  en- 
chantment. I  became  devotedly  attached  to  him, 
He  was  not  a  native  of  Genoa,  but  had  been 
drawn  thither  by  the  solicitation  of  several  of  the 
nobility,  and  had  resided  there  but  a  few  years, 
for  the  completion  of  certain  works  he  had  un- 
dertaken. His  health  was  delicate,  and  he  had 

PART  I.  17 


126  THE  STORY  OF 

to  confide  much  of  the  filling  up  of  his  designs 
to  the  pencils  of  his  scholars.  He  considered  me 
as  particularly  happy  in  delineating  the  human 
countenance  ;  in  seizing  upon  characteristic, 
though  fleeting  expressions,  and  fixing  them 
powerfully  upon  my  canvas.  I  was  employed 
continually,  therefore,  in  sketching  faces,  and 
often  when  some  particular  grace  or  beauty  or 
expression  was  wanted  in  a  countenance,  it  was 
entrusted  to  my  pencil.  My  benefactor  was  fond 
of  bringing  me  forward  ;  and  partly,  perhaps, 
through  my  actual  skill,  and  partly  by  his  par- 
tial praises,  I  began  to  be  noted  for  the  expres- 
sion of  my  countenances. 

Among  the  various  works  which  he  had  under- 
taken, was  an  historical  piece  for  one  of  the  pa- 
laces of  Genoa,  in  which  were  to  be  introduced 
the  likenesses  of  several  of  the  family.  Among 
these  was  one  entrusted  to  my  pencil.  It  was 
that  of  a  young  girl,  W7ho  as  yet  was  in  a  con- 
vent for  her  education.  She  came  out  for  the 
purpose  of  sitting  for  the  picture.  I  first  saw 
her  in  an  apartment  of  one  of  the  sumptuous  pa- 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  127 

laces  of  Genoa.  She  stood  before  a  casement 
that  looked  out  upon  the  bay  :  a  stream  of  vernal 
sunshine  fell  upon  her,  and  shed  a  kind  of  glory 
round  her  as  it  lit  up  the  rich  crimson  chamber. 
She  was  but  sixteen  years  of  age — and  oh  how 
lovely !  The  scene  broke  upon  me  like  a  mere 
vision  of  spring,  and  youth,  and  beauty.  I  could 
have  fallen  down  and  worshipped  her.  She  was 
like  one  of  those  fictions  of  poets  and  painters, 
when  they  would  express  the  beau  ideal  that 
haunts  their  minds  with  shapes  of  indescribable 
perfection. 

I  was  permitted  to  sketch  her  countenance  in 
various  positions,  and  1  fondly  protracted  the 
study  that  was  undoing  me.  The  more  I  gazed 
on  her  the  more  I  became  enamoured  ;  there  was 
something  almost  painful  in  my  intense  admi- 
ration. 1  was  but  nineteen  years  of  age;  shy, 
diffident,  and  inexperienced.  I  was  treated  with 
attention  and  encouragement,  for  my  youth  and 
my  enthusiasm  in  my  art  had  won  favour  for  me; 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  my  air  and  manner  that  inspired  interest 


128  THE  STORY  OF 

and  respect.  Still  the  kindness  with  which  I  was 
treated  could  not  dispel  the  embarrassment  into 
which  my  own  imagination  threw  me  when  in 
presence  of  this  lovely  being.  It  elevated  her 
into  something  almost  more  than  mortal  She 
seemed  too  exquisite  for  earthly  use  ;  too  delicate 
and  exalted  for  human  attainment.  As  I  sat 
tracing  her  charms  on  my  canvas,  with  my  eyes 
occasionally  riveted  on  her  features,  I  drank  in 
delicious  poison  that  made  me  giddy.  My  heart 
alternately  gushed  with  tenderness,  and  ached 
with  despair.  Now  I  became  more  than  ever 
sensible  of  the  violent  fires  that  had  lain  dormant 
at  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  You  who  are  born  in 
a  more  temperate  climate  and  under  a  cooler  sky, 
have  little  idea  of  the  violence  of  passion  in  our 
southern  bosoms. 

A  few  days  finished  my  task  ;  Bianca  returned 
to  her  convent,  but  her  image  remained  indeli- 
bly impressed  upon  my  heart.  It  dwelt  on  my 
imagination  ;  it  became  my  pervading  idea  of 
beauty.  It  had  an  effect  even  upon  my  pencil ; 
T  became  noted  for  my  felicity  in  depicting  fe- 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  129 

male  loveliness ;  it  was  but  because  I  multiplied 
the  image  of  Bianca.  I  soothed,  and  yet  fed  my 
fancy,  by  introducing  her  in  all  the  productions 
of  my  master.  I  have  stood  with  delight  in  one 
of  the  chapels  of  the  Annunciata,  and  heard  the 
crowd  extol  the  seraphic  beauty  of  a  saint  which 
I  had  painted  ;  I  have  seen  them  bow  down  in 
adoration  before  the  painting  :  they  were  bowing 
before  the  loveliness  of  Bianca. 

I  existed  in  this  kind  of  dream,  I  might  al- 
most say  delirium,  for  upwards  of  a  year.  Such 
is  the  tenacity  of  my  imagination  that  the  image 
which  was  formed  in  it  continued  in  all  its  power 
and  freshness.  Indeed,  I  was  a  solitary,  medita- 
tive being,  much  given  to  reverie,  and  apt  to  fos- 
ter ideas  which  had  once  taken  strong  possession 
of  me.  I  was  roused  from  this  fond,  melancho- 
ly, delicious  dream  by  the  death  of  my  worthy 
benefactor.  I  cannot  describe  the  pangs  his 
death  occasioned  me.  It  left  me  alone  and  al- 
most broken  hearted.  He  bequeathed  to  me  his 
little  property ;  which,  from  the  liberality  of  his 
disposition  and  his  expensive  style  of  living,  was 


130  THE  STORY  OF 

indeed  but  small ;  and  he  most  particularly  re- 
commended me,  in  dying,  to  the  protection  of  a 
nobleman  who  had  been  his  patron. 

The  latter  was  a  man  who  passed  for  munifi- 
cent. He  was  a  lover  and  an  encourager  of  the 
arts,  and  evidently  wished  to  be  thought  so.  He 
fancied  he  saw  in  me  indications  of  future  excel- 
lence ;  my  pencil  had  already  attracted  atten- 
tion ;  he  took  me  at  once  under  his  protection  ; 
seeing  that  I  was  overwhelmed  with  grief,  and  in- 
capable of  exerting  myself  in  the  mansion  of  my 
late  benefactor,  he  invited  me  to  sojourn  for  a 
time  in  a  villa  which  he  possessed  on  the  border 
of  the  sea,  in  the  picturesque  neighbourhood  of 
Sestri  de  Ponenti. 

I  found  at  the  villa  the  Count's  only  son  Fi- 
lippo  :  he  was  nearly  of  my  age,  prepossessing 
in  his  appearance,  and  fascinating  in  his  man- 
ners ;  he  attached  himself  to  me,  and  seemed  to 
court  my  good  opinion.  I  thought  there  was  some- 
thing of  profession  in  his  kindness,  and  of  caprice 
in  his  disposition  ;  but  I  had  nothing  else  near 
me  to  attach  myself  to,  and  my  heart  felt  the  need 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  131 

«f  something  to  repose  itself  upon.  His  educa- 
tion had  been  neglected  ;  he  looked  upon  me  as 
his  superior  in  mental  powers  and  acquirements, 
and  tacitly  acknowledged  my  superiority.  I 
felt  that  I  was  his  equal  in  birth,  and  that  gave 
an  independence  to  my  manner,  which  had  its 
effect.  The  caprice  and  tyranny  I  saw  some- 
times exercised  on  others,  over  whom  he  had 
power,  were  never  manifested  towards  me.  We 
became  intimate  friends,  and  frequent  com- 
panions. Still  I  loved  to  be  alone,  and  to  in- 
dulge in  the  reveries  of  my  own  imagination, 
among  the  beautiful  scenery  by  which  I  was  sur- 
ounded. 

The  villa  stood  in  the  midst  of  ornamented 
grounds,  finely  decorated  with  statues  and  foun- 
tains, and  laid  out  into  groves  and  alleys  and 
shady  bowers.  It  commanded  a  wide  view  of 
the  Mediterranean,  and  the  picturesque  Ligu- 
rian  coast.  Every  thing  was  assembled  here 
that  could  gratify  the  taste  or  agreeably  occupy 
the  mind.  Soothed  by  the  tranquillity  of  this 
elegant  retreat,  the  turbulence  of  my  feelings 


132  THE  STORY  OF 

gradually  subsided,  and,  blending  with  the  TO- 
mantic  spell  that  still  reigned  over  my  imagina- 
tion, produced  a  soft  voluptuous  melancholy. 

I  had  not  been  long  under  the  roof  of  the  Count, 
when  our  solitude  was  enlivened  by  another  in- 
habitant. It  was  a  daughter  of  a  relation  of 
the  Count,  who  had  lately  died  in  reduced  cir- 
cumstances, bequeathing  this  only  child  to  his 
protection.  I  had  heard  much  of  her  beauty  from 
Filippo,  but  my  fancy  had  become  so  engrossed 
by  one  idea  of  beauty  as  not  to  admit  of  any 
other.  We  were  in  the  central  saloon  of  the  vil- 
la when  she  arrived.  She  was  still  in  mourning, 
and  approached,  leaning  on  the  Count's  arm.  As 
they  ascended  the  marble  portico,  I  was  struck 
by  the  elegance  of  her  figure  and  movement,  by 
the  grace  with  which  the  mezzaro,  the  bewitch- 
ing veil  of  Genoa,  was  folded  about  her  slender 
form.  They  entered.  Heavens !  what  was  my 
surprise  when  I  beheld  Bianca  before  me.  It 
was  herself;  pale  with  grief;  but  still  more  ma- 
tured in  loveliness  than  when  I  had  last  beheld 
her.  The  time  that  had  elapsed  had  developed 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  133 

the  graces  of  her  person ;  and  the  sorrow 
she  had  undergone  had  diffused  over  her  counte- 
nance an  irresistible  tenderness. 

She  blushed  and  trembled  at  seeing  me,  and 
tears  rushed  into  her  eyes,  for  she  remembered 
in  whose  company  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
behold  me.  For  my  part,  I  cannot  express  what 
were  my  emotions.  By  degrees  I  overcame  the 
extreme  shyness  that  had  formerly  paralyzed  me 
in  her  presence.  We  were  drawn  together  by 
sympathy  of  situation.  We  had  each  lost  our  best 
friend  in  the  world  ;  we  were  each,  in  some  mea- 
sure, thrown  upon  the  kindness  of  others.  Whea 
I  came  to  know  her  intellectually,  all  my  ideal 
picturings  of  her  were  confirmed.  Her  newness 
to  the  world,  her  delightful  susceptibility  to  every 
thing  beautiful  and  agreeable  in  nature,  reminded 
ine  of  my  own  emotions  when  first  I  escaped 
from  the  convent.  Her  rectitude  of  thinking 
delighted  my  judgment ;  the  sweetness  of  her 
nature  wrapped  itself  round  my  heart ;  and  then 
her  young  and  tender  and  budding  loveliness, 
sent  a  delicious  madness  to  my  brain. 

PART!.  1ft 


134  THE  STORY  OF 

I  gazed  upon  her  with  a  kind  of  idolatry,  as 
something  more  than  mortal ;  and  I  felt  humilia- 
ted at  the  idea  of  my  comparative  unworthi- 
ness  Yet  she  was  mortal ;  and  one  of  mor- 
tality's most  susceptible  and  loving  compounds; 
for  she  loved  me  ! 

How  first  I  discovered  the  transporting  truth 
I  cannot  recollect ;  I  believe  it  stole  upon  me 
by  degrees,  as  a  wonder  past  hope  or  belief. 
We  were  both  at  such  a  tender  and  loving  age ; 
in  constant  intercourse  with  each  other ;  min- 
gling in  the  same  elegant  pursuits ;  for  music, 
poetry  and  painting  were  our  mutual  delights,  and 
we  were  almost  separated  from  society,  among 
lovely  and  romantic  scenery  !  Is  it  strange  that 
two  young  hearts  thus  brought  together  should 
readily  twine  round  each  other  ? 

Oh  gods  !  what  a  dream — a  transient  dream  ! 
of  unalloyed  delight  then  passed  over  my  soul ! 
Then  it  was  that  the  world  around  me  was  in- 
deed a  paradise,  for  I  had  woman — lovely,  de- 
licious woman,  to  share  it  with  me.  How  often 
have  I  rambled  over  the  picturesque  shores  of 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  135 

Sestri,  or  climbed  its  wild  mountains,  with  the 
coast  gemmed  with  villas,  and  the  blue  sea  far 
below  me,  and  the  slender  Pharo  of  Genoa  on 
its  romantic  promontory  in  the  distance;  and 
as  I  sustained  the  faltering  steps  of  Bianca, 
have  thought  there  could  no  unhappiness  enter 
into  so  beautiful  a  world.  Why,  oh  why  is  this 
budding  season  of  life  and  love  so  transient — 

o 

why  is  this  rosy  cloud  of  love  that  sheds  such  a 
glow  over  the  morning  of  our  days  so  prone  to 
brew  up  into  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm! 

I  was  the  first  to  awaken  from  this  blissful  de- 
lirium of  the  affections.  I  had  gained  Bianca's 
heart ;  what  was  I  to  do  with  it  ?  I  had  no  wealth 
nor  prospects  to  entitle  me  to  her  hand.  Was  I 
to  take  advantage  of  her  ignorance  of  the  world, 
of  her  confiding  affection,  and  draw  her  down  to 
my  own  poverty  ?  Was  this  requiting  the  hos- 
pitality of  the  Count  ? — was  this  requiting  the 
love  of  Bianca? 

Now  first  I  began  to  feel  that  even  success- 
ful love  may  have  its  bitterness.  A  corroding  care 
gathered  about  my  heart.  I  moved  about  the 


136  THE  STORY  OF 

palace  like  a  guilty  being.     I  felt  as  if  I  had 
abused  its  hospitality — as  if  I  were  a  thief  within 
its  walls,     I  could  no  longer  look  with  unem- 
barrassed mien  in  the  countenance  of  the  Count. 
I  accused  myself  of  perfidy  to  him,  and  I  thought 
he  read  it  in  my  looks,  and  began  to  distrust  and 
despise  me.    His  manner  had  always  been  osten- 
tatious and  condescending,  it  now  appeared  cold 
and  haughty.  Filippo,  too,  became  reserved  and 
distant ;  or  at  least  I  suspected  him  to  be  so. 
Heavens  ! — was  this  mere  coinage  of  my  brain  : 
was  I  to  become  suspicious  of  all  the  world  ? — a 
poor  surmising  wretch  ;  watching  looks  and  ges- 
tures ;  and  torturing  myself  with  misconstruc- 
tions.    Or  if  true — was  I  to  remain  beneath  a 
roof  where  I  was  merely  tolerated,  and  linger 
there  on  sufferance  ?     "  This  is  not  to  be  en- 
dured !"  exclaimed  I,  "  I  will  tear  myself  from 
this  state  of  self  abasement ;  I  will  break  through 

this  fascination  and  fly Fly  ? — whither  ? — 

from  the  world  ? — for  where  is  the  world  when 
I  leave  Bianca  behind  me  !" 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  137 

My  spirit  was  naturally  proud,  and  swelled 
within  me  at  the  idea  of  being  looked  upon  with 
contumely.  Many  times  I  was  on  the  point  of 
declaring  my  family  and  rank,  and  asserting  my 
equality,  in  the  presence  of  Bianca,  when  I 
thought  her  relatives  assumed  an  air  of  superiori- 
ty. But  the  feeling  was  transient.  I  consider- 
ed myself  discarded  and  contemned  by  my  fami- 
ly ;  and  had  solemnly  vowed  never  to  own  re- 
lationship to  them,  until  they  themselves  should 
claim  it. 

The  struggle  of  my  mind  preyed  upon  my 
happiness  and  my  health.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
uncertainty  of  being  loved  would  be  less  intole- 
rable than  thus  to  be  assured  of  it,  and  yet  not 
dare  to  enjoy  the  conviction.  I  was  no  longer 
the  enraptured  admirer  of  Bianca  ;  I  no  longer 
hung  in  ecstacy  on  the  tones  of  her  voice,  nor 
drank  in  with  insatiate  gaze  the  beauty  of  her 
countenance.  Her  very  smiles  ceased  to  delight 
me,  for  I  felt  culpable  in  having  won  them. 

She  could  not  but  be  sensible  of  the  change 
in  me,  and  inquired  the  cause  with  her  usual 


138  THE  STORY  OF 

frankness  and  simplicity.  I  could  not  evade  the 
inquiry,  for  my  heart  was  full  to  aching.  I  told 
her  all  the  conflict  of  my  soul ;  my  devouring 
passion,  my  bitter  self  upbraiding.  "  Yes  !" 
said  I,  "  I  am  unworthy  of  you.  I  am  an  off- 
cast from  my  family — a  wanderer— a  nameless, 
homeless  wanderer,  with  nothing  but  poverty  for 
my  portion,  and  yet  I  have  dared  to  love  you — 
have  dared  to  aspire  to  your  love  !n 

My  agitation  moved  her  to  tears ;  but  she  saw 
nothing  in  my  situation  so  hopeless  as  I  had  de- 
picted it.  Brought  up  in  a  convent,  she  knew 
nothing  of  the  world,  its  wants,  its  cares ; — and 
indeed,  what  woman  is  a  worldly  casuist  in  mat- 
ters of  the  heart ! — Nay,  more — she  kindled  into 
a  sweet  enthusiasm  when  she  spoke  of  my  for- 
tunes and  myself.  We  had  dwelt  together  on 
the  works  of  the  famous  masters.  I  had  related 
to  her  their  histories ;  the  high  reputation,  the 
influence,  the  magnificence  to  which  they  had 
attained  ; — the  companions  of  princes,  the  fa- 
vourites of  kings,  the  pride  and  boast  of  nations. 
All  this  she  applied  to  me.  Her  love  saw  no- 


TflE    YOUNG    ITALIAN.  139 

thing  in  their  greatest  productions  that  I  was  not 
able  to  achieve;  and  when  I  saw  the  lovely 
creature  glow  with  fervour,  tuid  her  whole  coun- 
tenance radiant  with  the  visions  of  my  glory, 
which  seemed  breaking  upon  her,  I  was  snatched 
up  for  the  moment  into  the  heaven  of  her  own 
imagination. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long  upon  this  part  of  my 
Btory ;  yet  I  cannot  help  lingering  over  a  period 
of  my  life,  on  which,  with  all  its  cares  and  con- 
flicts, I  look  back  with  fondness  ;  for  as  yet  my 
soul  was  unstained  by  a  crime.  I  do  not  know 
what  might  have  been  the  result  of  this  struggle 
between  pride,  delicacy,  and  passion,  had  I  not 
read  in  a  Neapolitan  gazette  an  account  of  the 
sudden  death  of  my  brother.  It  was  accom- 
panied by  an  earnest  inquiry  for  intelligence  con- 
cerning me,  and  a  prayer,  should  this  notice  meet 
my  eye,  that  I  would  hasten  to  Naples,  to  com- 
fort an  infirm  and  afflicted  father. 

I  was  naturally  of  an  affectionate  disposition  ; 
but  my  brother  had  never  been  as  a  brother  to 
me  ;  I  had  long  considered  myself  as  disconnect- 


140  THE  STORY  OK 

ed  from  him,  and  his  death  caused  me  but  little 
emotion.  The  thoughts  of  my  father,  infirm  and 
suffering,  touched  me,  however,  to  the  quick  ; 
and  when  I  thought  of  him,  that  lofty  magnificent 
being,  now  bowed  clown  and  desolate,  and  suing 
to  me  for  comfort,  all  mv  resentment  for  past  neg- 
lect was  subdued,  and  a  glow  of  filial  affection 
was  awakened  within  me. 

The  predominant  feeling,  however  that  over- 
powered all  others  was  transport  at  the  sudden 
change  in  my  whole  fortunes.  A  home — a  name 
— rank — wealth  awaited  me  ;  and  love  painted 
a  still  more  rapturous  prospect  in  the  distance. 
I  hastened  to  Bianca,  and  threw7  myself  at  her 
feet.  "  Oh,  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  "  at  length  I 
ean  claim  you  for  my  own.  I  am  no  longer  a 
nameless  adventurer,  a  neglected,  rejected  out- 
east.  Look — read,  behold  the  tidings  that  re- 
store me  to  my  name  and  to  myself !" 

I  will  not  dwell  on  the  scene  that  ensued.  Bi- 
anca rejoiced  in  the  reverse  of  my  situation,  be- 
cause she  saw  it  lightened  my  heart  of  a  load  of 
cere  ;  for  her  own  part  she  had  loved  me  for  my- 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  141 

self,  and  had  never  doubted  that  my  own  merits 
would  command  both  fame  and  fortune. 

I  now  felt  all  my  native  pride  buoyant  with- 
in me.  I  no  longer  walked  with  my  eyes  bent 
to  the  dust ;  hope  elevated  them  to  the  skies ;  my 
soul  was  lit  up  with  fresh  fires,  and  beamed  from 
my  countenance. 

I  wished  to  impart  the  change  in  my  circum- 
stances to  the  Count;  to  let  him  know  who  and 
what  I  was,  and  to  make  formal  proposals  for  the 
hand  of  Bianca  ;  but  the  Count  was  absent  on  a 
distant  estate.  I  opened  my  whole  soul  to  Filip- 
po.  Now  first  I  told  him  of  my  passion  ;  of  the 
doubts  and  fears  that  had  distracted  me,  and  of 
the  tidings  that  had  suddenly  dispelled  them.  He 
overwhelmed  me  with  congratulations  and  with 
the  warmest  expressions  of  sympathy.  I  embra- 
ced him  in  the  fullness  of  my  heart.  I  felt  com- 
punctious for  having  suspected  him  of  coldness, 
and  asked  him  forgiveness  for  having  ever  doubt- 
ed his  friendship. 

Nothing  is  so  warm  and  enthusiastic  as  a  sud- 
den expansion  of  the  heart  between  young  men. 

PART  I.  1 9 


142  THE  STORY  OF 

Filippo  entered  into  our  concerns  with  the  most 
eager  interest.  He  was  our  confidant  and  coun- 
sellor. It  was  determined  that  I  should  hasten  at 
once  to  Naples  to  re-establish  myself  in  my  fa- 
ther's affections  and  my  paternal  home,  and  the 
moment  the  reconciliation  was  effected  and  my 
father's  consent  insured,  I  should  return  and  de- 
mand Bianca  of  the  Count.  Filippo  engaged  to 
secure  his  father's  acquiescence  ;  indeed,  he  un- 
dertook to  watch  over  our  interests,  and  was  the 
channel  through  which  we  were  to  correspond. 

My  parting  with  Bianca  was  tender — delicious 
— agonizing.  It  was  in  a  little  pavilion  of  the 
garden  which  had  been  one  of  our  favourite  resorts. 
How  often  and  often  did  I  return  to  have  one  more 
adieu — to  have  her  look  once  more  on  me  in 
speechless  emotion — to  enjoy  once  more  the  rap- 
turous sight  of  those  tears  streaming  down  her 
lovely  cheeks — to  seize  once  more  on  that  deli- 
cate hand,  the  frankly  accorded  pledge  of  love, 
and  cover  it  with  tears  and  kisses  !  Heavens  ! 
There  is  a  delight  even  in  the  parting  agony  of 
two  lovers  worth  a  thousand  tame  pleasures  of 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  143 

the  world.  I  have  her  at  this  moment  before  my 
eyes — at  the  window  of  the  pavilion,  putting  aside 
the  vines  that  clustered  about  the  casement — her 
light  form  beaming  forth  in  virgin  white — her 
countenance  all  tears  and  smiles — sending  a  thou^ 
sand  and  a  thousand  adieus  after  me,  as,  hesi- 
tating, in  a  delirium  of  fondness  and  agitation,  I 
faltered  my  way  down  the  avenue. 

As  the  bark  bore  me  out  of  the  harbour  of 
Genoa,  how  eagerly  my  eyes  stretched  along  the 
coast  of  Sestri,  till  it  discerned  the  villa  gleaming 
from  among  trees  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
As  long  as  day  lasted,  I  gazed  and  gazed  upon  it, 
till  it  lessened  and  lessened  to  a  mere  white  speck 
in  the  distance ;  and  still  my  intense  and  fixed 
gaze  discerned  it,  when  all  other  objects  of  the 
coast  had  blended  into  indistinct  confusion,  or 
were  lost  in  the  evening  gloom. 

On  arriving  at  Naples,  I  hastened  to  my  pa- 
ternal home.  My  heart  yearned  for  the  long- 
withheld  blessing  of  a  father's  love.  As  I  en- 
tered the  proud  portal  of  the  ancestral  palace,  my 
emotions  were  so  great  that  I  could  not  speak. 


144  THE  STORY  OF 

No  one  knew  me.  The  servants  gazed  at  me 
with  curiosity  and  surprise.  A  few  years  of  in- 
tellectual elevation  and  development  had  made 
a  prodigious  change  in  the  poor  fugitive  stripling 
from  the  convent.  Still  that  no  one  should  know 
me  in  my  rightful  home  was  overpowering.  I 
felt  like  the  prodigal  son  returned.  1  was  a 
stranger  in  the  house  of  my  father.  I  burst  into 
tears,  and  wept  aloud.  When  I  made  myself 
known,  however,  all  was  changed.  I,  who  had 
once  been  almost  repulsed  from  its  walls,  and 
forced  to  fly  as  an  exile,  was  welcomed  back  with 
acclamation,  with  servility.  One  of  the  servants 
hastened  to  prepare  my  father  for  my  reception  ; 
my  eagerness  to  receive  the  paternal  embrace  was 
so  great  that  I  could  not  await  his  return  ;  but 
hurried  after  him. 

What  a  spectacle  met  my  eyes  as  I  entered  the 
chamber.  My  father,  whom  I  had  left  in  the 
pride  of  vigourous  age,  whose  noble  and  majestic 
bearing  had  so  awed  my  young  imagination,  was 
bowed  down  and  withered  into  decrepitude.  A 
paralysis  had*  ravaged  his  stately  form,  and  left 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  145 

it  a  shaking  ruin.  He  sat  propped  up  in  his 
chair,  with  pale  relaxed  visage  and  glassy  wan* 
dering  eye.  His  intellects  had  evidently  shared 
in  the  ravage  of  his  frame.  The  servant  was 
endeavouring  to  make  him  comprehend  the  vi- 
siter  that  was  at  hand.  I  tottered  up  to  him  and 
sunk  at  his  feet.  All  his  past  coldness  and  neg- 
lect were  forgotten  in  his  present  sufferings.  I 
remembered  only  that  he  was  my  parent,  and 
that  I  had  deserted  him.  I  clasped  his  knees ; 
my  voice  was  almost  stifled  with  convulsive 
sobs.  "  Pardon — pardon — oh  my  father  !"  was 
all  that  I  could  utter.  His  apprehension  seemed 
slowly  to  return  to  him.  He  gazed  at  me  for 
some  moments  with  a  vague,  inquiring  look  ;  a 
convulsive  tremor  quivered  about  his  lips ;  he 
feebly  extended  a  shaking  hand,  laid  it  upon  my 
head,  and  burst  into  an  infantine  flow  of -tears. 

From  that  moment  he  would  scarcely  spare 
me  from  his  sight.  I  appeared  the  only  object 
that  his  heart  responded  to  in  the  world :  all  else 
was  as  a  blank  to  him.  He  had  almost  lost  the 
powers  of  speech,  and  the  reasoning  faculty 


146  THE  STORY  OF 

seemed  at  an  end.  He  was  mute  and  passive  ; 
excepting  that  fits  of  child-like  weeping  would 
sometimes  come  over  him  without  any  imme- 
diate cause.  If  I  left  the  room  at  any  time,  his 
eye  was  incessantly  fixed  on  the  door  till  my  re- 
turn, and  on  my  entrance  there  was  another  gush 
of  tears. 

To  talk  with  him  of  my  concerns,  in  this  ruin- 
ed state  of  mind,  would  have  been  worse  than 
useless  :  to  have  left  him,  for  ever  so  short  a 
time,  would  have  been  cruel,  unnatural.  Here 
then  was  a  new  trial  for  my  affections.  I  wrote 
to  Biancaan  account  of  my  return  and  of  my  ac- 
tual situation  ;  painting  in  colours  vivid,  for  they 
were  true,  the  torments  I  suffered  at  our  being 
thus  separated  ;  for  to  the  youthful  lover  every 
day  of  absence  is  an  age  of  love  lost.  I  enclo- 
sed the' letter  in  one  to  Filippo  who  was  the  chan- 
nel of  our  correspondence.  I  received  a  reply 
from  him  full  of  friendship  and  sympathy  ;  from 
Bianca  full  of  assurances  of  affection  and  con- 
stancy. 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  147 

Week  after  week  ;  month  after  month  elapsed, 
without  making  any  change  in  my  circum- 
stances. The  vital  flame,  which  had  seemed 
nearly  extinct  when  first  I  met  my  father,  kept 
fluttering  on  without  any  apparent  diminution. 
I  watched  him  constantly,  faithfully — I  had  al- 
most said  patiently.  I  knew  that  his  death  alone 
would  set  me  free  ;  yet  I  never  at  any  moment 
wished  it.  I  felt  too  glad  to  be  able  to  make  any 
atonement  for  past  disobedience ;  and,  denied 
as  I  had  been  all  endearments  of  relationship  in 
my  early  days,  my  heart  yearned  towards  a  fa- 
ther, wrho,  in  his  age  and  helplessness,  had 
thrown  himself  entirely  on  me  for  comfort.  My 
passion  for  Bianca  gained  daily  more  force  from 
absence;  by  constant  meditation  it  wore  itself  a 
deeper  and  deeper  channel.  I  made  no  new 
friends  nor  acquaintance  ;  sought  none  of  the 
pleasures  of  Naples  which  my  rank  and  fortune 
threw  open  to  me.  Mine  was  a  heart  that  con- 
fined itself  to  few  objects,  but  dwelt  upon  those 
with  the  intenser  passion.  To  sit  by  my  father, 
and  administer  to  his  wants,  and  to  meditate 


148  THE  STORY  OF 

on  Bianca  in  the  silence  of  his  chamber,  was  my 
constant  habit.  Sometimes  I  amused  myself 
with  my  pencil  in  portraying  the  image  that 
was  ever  present  to  my  imagination.  I  trans- 
ferred to  canvas  every  look  and  smile  of  hers 
that  dwelt  in  my  heart.  I  showed  them  to  my 
father  in  hopes  of  awakening  an  interest  in  his 
bosom  for  the  mere  shadow  of  my  love  ;  but  he 
was  too  far  sunk  in  intellect  to  take  any  more 
than  a  child-like  notice  of  them. 

When  I  received  a  letter  from  Bianca  it  was 
a  new  source  of  solitary  luxury.  Her  let- 
ters, it  is  true,  were  less  and  less  frequent,  but 
they  were  always  full  of  assurances  of  unabated 
affection.  They  breathed  not  the  frank  and  in- 
nocent warmth,  with  which  she  expressed  her- 
self in  conversation,  but  I  accounted  for  it  from 
the  embarrassment  which  inexperienced  minds 
have  often  to  express  themselves  upon  paper. 
Filippo  assured  me  of  her  unaltered  constancy. 
They  both  lamented  in  the  strongest  terms  our 
continued  separation,  though  they  did  justice  to 
the  filial  feeling  that  kept  me  by  my  father's  side. 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  149 

Nearly  eighteen  months  elapsed  in  this  pro- 
tracted exile.  To  me  they  were  so  many  ages. 
Ardent  and  impetuous  by  nature,  I  scarcely 
know  how  I  should  have  supported  so  long  an 
absence,  had  I  not.  felt  assured  that  the  faith  of 
Bianca  was  equal  to  my  own.  At  length  my  fa- 
ther died.  Life  went  from  him  almost  imper- 
ceptibly. I  hung  over  him  in  mute  affliction,  and 
watched  the  expiring  spasms  of  nature.  His 
last  faltering  accents  whispered  repeatedly  a  bles- 
sing on  me — alas  !  how  has  it  been  fulfilled  ! 

When  I  had  paid  due  honours  to  his  remains^ 
and  laid  them  in  the  tomb  of  our  ancestors,  I  ar- 
ranged briefly  my  affairs  ;  put  them  in  a  pos- 
ture to  be  easily  at  my  command  from  a  dis- 
tance, and  embarked  once  more,  with  a  bounding 
heart  for  Genoa. 

Our  voyage  was  propitious,  and  oh  !  what 
was  my  rapture  when  first,  in  the  dawn  of  morn- 
ing, I  saw  the  shadowy  summits  of  the  Apen- 
nines rising  almost  like  clouds  above  the  horizon. 
The  sweet  breath  of  summer  just  moved  us 
over  the  long  wavering  billows  that  were  rollhng 
,  *  20 


150  THE  STORY  OF 

us  on  towards  Genoa.  By  degrees  the  coast  of 
Sestri  rose  like  a  sweet  creation  of  enchantment 
from  the  silver  bosom  of  the  deep.  I  beheld  the 
line  of  villages  and  palaces  studding  its  borders. 
My  eje  reverted  to  a  well-known  point,  and  at 
length,  from  the  confusion  of  distant  objects,  it 
singled  out  the  villa  which  contained  Bianca.  It 
was  a  mere  speck  in  the  landscape,  but  glimmer- 
ing from  afar,  the  polar  star  of  my  heart. 

Again  I  gazed  at  it  for  a  livelong  summer's 
day  ;  but  oh  how  different  the  emotions  between 
departure  and  return.  It  now  kept  growing  and 
growing,  instead  of  lessening  and  lessening  on 
my  sight.  My  heart  seemed  to  dilate  with  it. 
I  looked  at  it  through  a  telescope.  I  gradually 
defined  one  feature  after  another.  The  bal- 
conies of  the  central  saloon  where  first  1  met 
Bia nca  beneath  its  roof  ;  the  terrace  where  we 
so  often  had  passed  the  delightful  summer 
evenings  ;  the  awning  that  shaded  her  chamber 
window — I  almost  fancied  I  saw  her  form  beneath 
it.  Could  she  but  know  her  lover  was  in  the 
bark  whose  white  sail  now  gleamed  on  the  sunny 


THE    YOUNG    ITALIAN.  151 

bosom  of  the  sea  !  My  fond  impatience  increas- 
ed as  we  neared  the  coast.  The  ship  seemed  to 
lag  lazily  over  the  billows;  I  could  almost  have 
sprung  into  the  sea  and  swam  to  the  desired 
shore. 

The  shadows  of  evening  gradually  shrowded 
the  scene,  but  the  moon  arose  in  all  her  fullness 
and  beauty,  and  shed  the  tender  light  so  dear  to 
lovers,  over  the  romantic  coast  of  Sestri.  My 
whole  soul  was  bathed  in  unutterable  tenderness. 
I  anticipated  the  heavenly  evenings  I  should 
pass  in  wandering  with  Bianca  by  the  light  of 
that  blessed  moon. 

It  was  late  at  night  before  we  entered  the  har- 
bour. As  early  next  morning  as  I  could  get  re- 
leased from  the  formalities  of  landing  I  threw 
myself  on  horseback  and  hastened  to  the  villa. 
As  I  gallopped  round  the  rocky  promontory  on 
which  stands  the  Faro,  and  saw  the  coast  of  Ses- 
tri opening  upon  me,  a  thousand  anxieties  and 
doubts  suddenly  sprang  up  in  my  bosom.  There 
is  something  fearful  in  returning  to  those  we  love, 
while  yet  uncertain  what  ills  or  changes  absence 


152  THE  STORY  OF 

may  have  effected.  The  turbulence  of  my  agi- 
tation shook  my  very  frame.  I  spurred  my  horse 
to  redoubled  speed ;  he  was  covered  with  foam 
when  we  both  arrived  panting  at  the  gateway  that 
opened  to  the  grounds  around  the  villa.  I  left  my 
horse  at  a  cottage  and  walked  through  the  grounds 
that  I  might  regain  tranquillity  for  the  approach- 
ing interview.  I  chid  myself  for  having  suffered 
mere  doubts  and  surmises  thus  suddenly  to  over- 
come me  ;  but  I  was  always  prone  to  be  carried 
away  by  these  gusts  of  the  feelings. 

On  entering  the  garden  every  thing  bore  the 
same  look  as  when  I  had  left  it ;  and  this  un- 
changed aspect  of  things  reassured  me.  There 
were  the  alleys  in  which  I  had  so  often  walked 
with  Bianca ;  the  same  shades  under  which  we 
had  so  often  sat  during  the  noontide  heat.  There 
were  the  same  flowers  of  which  she  was  fond ; 
and  which  appeared  still  to  be  under  the  ministry 
of  her  hand.  Every  thing  around  looked  and 
breathed  of  Bianca  ;  hope  and  joy  flushed  in  my 
bosom  at  every  step.  I  passed  a  little  bower  in 
\vhich  we  had  often  sat  and  read  together.  A 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  I5o 

book  and  a  glove  lay  on  the  bench.  It  was  Bi- 
anca's  glove  ;  it  was  a  volume  of  the  Metestasio 
I  had  given  her.  The  glove  lay  in  my  favourite 
passage.  I  clasped  them  to  my  heart.  "  All  is 
safe !"  exclaimed  1,  with  rapture,  "  she  loves  me! 
she  is  still  my  own  !" 

I  bounded  lightly  along  the  avenue  down  which 
I  had  faltered  so  slowly  at  my  departure.  I  be- 
held her  favourite  pavilion  which  had  witnessed 
our  parting  scene.  The  window  was  open,  with 
the  same  vine  clambering  about  it,  precisely  as 
when  she  waved  and  wept  me  an  adieu.  Oh  ! 
how  transporting  was  the  contrast  in  my  situa- 
tion. As  I  passed  near  the  pavilion,  I  heard  the 
tones  of  a  female  voice.  They  thrilled  through 
me  with  an  appeal  to  my  heart  not  to  be  mista- 
ken. Before  I  could  think,  I  felt  they  were  Bi- 
anca's.  For  an  instant  I  paused,  overpowered 
with  agitation.  I  feared  to  break  in  suddenly 
upon  her.  I  softly  ascended  the  steps  of  the  pa- 
vilion. The  door  was  open.  I  saw  Bianca  seat- 
ed at  a  table ;  her  back  was  towards  me ;  she 
was  warbling  a  soft  melancholy  air,  and  was  oc- 


154  THE  STORY  OF 

cupied  in  drawing.  A  glance  sufficed  to  show 
me  that  she  was  copying  one  of  my  own  paint- 
ings. I  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment  in  a  delicious 
tumult  of  emotions.  She  paused  in  her  singing ; 
a  heavy  sigh,  almost  a  sob  followed.  I  could  no 
longer  contain  myself.  "  Bianca  !"  exclaimed 
I,  in  a  half  smothered  voice.  She  started  at  the 
sound ;  brushed  back  the  ringlets  that  hung 
clustering  about  her  face ;  darted  a  glance  at 
me ;  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  and  would  have 
fallen  to  the  earth,  had  I  not  caught  her  in  my 
arms. 

"  Bianca !  my  own  Bianca !"  exclaimed  I, 
folding  her  to  my  bosom  ;  my  voice  stifled  in 
sobs  of  convulsive  joy.  She  lay  in  my  arms 
without  sense  or  motion.  Alarmed  at  the  effects 
of  my  own  precipitation,  I  scarce  kne\v  what  to 
do.  I  tried  by  a  thousand  endearing  words  to 
call  her  back  to  consciousness.  She  slowly  re- 
covered, and  half  opening  her  eyes — "  where  am 
I  ?"  murmured  she  faintly.  "  Here,"  exclaimed 
I,  pressing  her  to  my  bosom,  "  Here !  close  to 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  155 

the  heart  that  adores  you  ;  in  the  arms  of  your 
faithful  Ottavio !" 

"  Oh  no  !  no  !  no !"  shrieked  she,  starting  into 
sudden  life  and  terror — "away!  away!  leave 
me !  leave  me  !" 

She  tore  herself  from  my  arms ;  rushed  to  a 
corner  of  the  saloon,  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands,  as  if  the  very  sight  of  me  were  bale- 
ful. I  was  thunderstruck — I  could  not  believe 
my  senses.  I  followed  her,  trembling,  con- 
founded. I  endeavoured  to  take  her  hand,  but 
she  shrunk  from  my  very  touch  with  horror. 

"  Good  heavens,  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  "  what 
is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Is  this  my  reception 
after  so  long  an  absence  ?  Is  this  the  love  you 
professed  for  me  ?" 

At  the  mention  of  love,  a  shuddering  ran 
through  her.  She  turned  to  me  a  face  wild  with 
anguish.  "  No  more  of  that !  no  more  of  that !" 
gasped  she — "  talk  not  to  me  of  love — I — 1 — am 
married !" 

I  reeled  as  if  I  had  received  a  mortal  blow. 
A  sickness  struck  to  my  very  heart.  I  caught 


156  THE  STORY  OF 

at  a  window  frame  for  support.  For  a  moment 
or  two,  every  thing  was  chaos  around  me.  When 
I  recovered,  I  beheld  Bianca  lying  on  a  sofa ; 
her  face  buried  in  the  pillow,  and  sobbing  con- 
vulsively. Indignation  at  her  fickleness  for  a 
moment  overpowered  every  other  feeling. 

"  Faithless— perjured — "  cried  I,  striding 
across  the  room.  But  another  glance  at  that 
beautiful  being  in  distress,  checked  all  my  wrath. 
Anger  could  not  dwell  together  with  her  idea  in 
my  soul. 

"  Oh  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  in  anguish,  could 
I  have  dreamt  of  this ;  could  I  have  suspected 
you  would  have  been  false  to  me  ?" 

She  raised  her  face  all  streaming  with  tears, 
all  disordered  with  emotion,  and  gave  me  one 

appealing  look — "  False  to  you  ! they  told 

me  you  were  dead  !" 

"  What,"  said  I,  "  in  spite  of  our  constant  cor- 
respondence ?" 

She  gazed  wildly  at  me — "  correspondence  ! — 
what  correspondence  ?" 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  157 

"  Have  you  not  repeatedly  received  and  re- 
plied to  my  letters  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  solemnity  and 
fervour — "  As  I  hope  for  mercy,  never!"  • 

A  horrible  surmise  shot  through  my  brain— 
"  Who  told  you  1  was  dead  ?" 

"  It  was  reported  that  the  ship  in  which  you 
embarked  for  Naples  perished  at  sea." 

"  But  who  told  you  the  report  ?" 

She  paused  for  an  instant,  and  trembled — 

"Filippo!" 

"  May  the  God  of  heaven  curse  him !"  cried  I, 
extending  my  clinched  fists  aloft. 

"  Oh  do  not  curse  him — do  not  curse  him  !" 
exclaimed  she — "  He  is — he  is — my  husband  !" 

This  was  all  that  was  wanting  to  unfold  the 
perfidy  that  had  been  practised  upon  me.  My 
blood  boiled  like  liquid  fire  in  my  veins.  I  gasped 
with  rage  too  great  for  utterance.  I  remained 
for  a  time  bewildered  by  the  whirl  of  horrible 
thoughts  that  rushed  through  my  mind.  The 
poor  victim  of  deception  before  me  thought  it 
was  with  her  I  was  incensed.  She  faintly  mur- 

PART  I.  21 


158  THE  STORY  OF 

t 

mured  forth  her  exculpation.  I  will  not  dwell 
upon  it.  I  saw  in  it  more  than  she  meant  to  re- 
veal. I  saw  with  a  glance  how  both  of  us  had 
been  betrayed.  "  'Tis  well !"  muttered  I  to  my- 
self in  smothered  accents  of  concentrated  fury. 
"  He  shall  account  to  rne  for  this !" 

Bianca  overheard  me.  New  terror  flashed  in 
her  countenance*  "  For  mercy's  sake  do  not 
meet  him — say  nothing  of  what  has  passed — for 
my  sake  say  nothing  to  him — I  only  shall  be  the 
sufferer !". 

A  new  suspicion  darted  across  my  mind — 
"  what !"  exclaimed  I — "  do  you  then  fear  him 
•—is  he  unkind  to  you — tell  me"  reiterated  I, 
grasping  her  hand  and  looking  her  eagerly  in  the 
face — "  tell  me — dares  he  to  use  you  harshly  !" 

"No!  no!  no!"  cried  she  faltering  and  em- 
barrassed ;  but  the  glance  at  her  face  had  told 
me  volumes.  I  saw  in  her  pallid  and  wasted 
features ;  in  the  prompt  terror  and  subdued 
agony  of  her  eye  a  whole  history  of  a  mind  bro- 
ken down  by  tyranny.  Great  God  !  *and  was 
this  beauteous  flower  snatched  from  me  to  be 
- 


THE    VOUNG  ITALIAN.  159 

thus  trampled  upon.  The  idea  roused  me  to 
madness.  I  clinched  my  teeth  and  my  hands  ; 
I  foamed  at  the  mouth  ;  every  passion  seemed  to 
have  resolved  itself  into  the  fury  that  like  a  lava 
boiled  within  my  heart.  Bianca  shrunk  from 
me  in  speechless  affright.  As  I  strode  by  the  win- 
dow my  eye  darted  down  the  alley.  Fatal  mo- 
ment !  I  beheld  Filippo  at  a  distance  !  My  brain 
was  in  delirium — I  sprang  from  the  pavilion, 
and  was  before  him  with  the  quickness  of  light- 
ning. He  saw  me  as  I  came  rushing  upon  him 
— he  turned  pale,  looked  wildly  to  right  and  left, 
as  if  he  would  have  fled,  and  trembling  drew  his 
sword  : — 

"  Wretch  !"  cried  I,  "  well  may  you  draw  your 
weapon !" 

I  spake  not  another  word — I  snatched  forth 
a  stiletto,  put  by  the  sword  which  trembled  in 
his  hand,  and  buried  my  poniard  in  his  bosom. 
He  fell  with  the  blow,  but  my  rage  was  unsated. 
I  sprang  upon  him  with  the  blood-thirsty  feeling 
of  a  tiger  ;  redoubled  my  blows  ;  mangled  him 
in  my  frenzy,  grasped  him  by  the  throat,  until 
with  reiterated  wounds  and  strangling  convul- 


160  THE  STORY  OF 

sions  he  expired  in  my  grasp.  1  remained  gla- 
ring on  the  countenance,  horrible  in  death,  that 
seemed  to  stare  back  with  its  protruded  eyes  upon 
me.  Piercing  shrieks  roused  me  from  my  deli- 
rium. I  looked  round  and  beheld  Bianca  flying 
distractedly  towards  us.  My  brain  whirled.  I 
waited  not  to  meet  her,  but  fled  from  the  scene 
of  horror.  I  fled  forth  from  the  garden  like 
another  Cain,  a  hell  within  my  bosom,  and  a 
curse  upon  my  head.  I  fled  without  knowing 
whither — almost  without  knowing  why — my 
only  idea  was  to  get  farther  and  farther  from  the 
horrors  I  had  left  behind  ;  as  if  I  could  throw 
space  between  myself  and  my  conscience.  I  fled 
to  the  Apennines,  and  wandered  for  days  and 
days  among  their  savage  heights.  How  I  ex- 
isted I  cannot  tell — what  rocks  and  precipices  I 
braved,  and  how  I  braved  them,  I  know  not.  I 
kept  on  and  on — trying  to  outtravel  the  curse 
that  clung  to  me.  Alas,  the  shrieks  of  Bianca 
rung  for  ever  in  my  ear.  The  horrible  counte- 
nance of  my  victim  was  for  ever  before  my  eyes. 
"  The  blood  of  Filippo  cried  to  me  from  the 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  161 

ground."     Rocks,  trees,  and  torrents  all  resound- 
ed with  my  crime. 

Then  it  was  1  felt  how  much  more  insup- 
portable is  the  anguish  of  remorse  than  every 
other  mental  pang.  Oh  !  could  I  but  have  cast 
off  this  crime  that  festered  in  my  heart ;  could  I 
but  have  regained  the  innocence  that  reigned  in 
my  breast  as  I  entered  the  garden  at  Sestri;  could 
I  but  have  restored  my  victim  to  life,  I  felt  as  if 
I  could  look  on  with  transport  even  though  Bi- 
anca  were  in  his  arms. 

By  degrees  this  frenzied  fever  of  remorse  set- 
tled into  a  permanent  malady  of  the  mind.  Into 
one  of  the  most  horrible  that  ever  poor  wretch 
was  cursed  with.  Wherever  I  went  the  counte- 
nance of  him  I  had  slain  appeared  to  follow  me* 
Wherever  I  turned  my  head  I  beheld  it  behind 
me,  hideous  with  the  contortions  of  the  dying 
moment.  I  have  tried  in  every  way  to  escape 
from  this  horrible  phantom ;  but  in  vain.  I 
know  not  whether  it  is  an  illusion  of  the  mind, 
the  consequence  of  my  dismal  education  at  the 
convent,  or  whether  a  phantom  really  sent  by 


162  THE  STORY  OF 

heaven  to  punish  me ;  but  there  it  ever  is-^at  all 
times — in  all  places — nor  has  time  nor  habit  had 
any  effect  in  familiarizing  me  with  its  terrors. 
I  have  travelled  from  place  to  place,  plunged 
into  amusements — tried  dissipation  and  distrac- 
tion of  every  kind — all — all  in  vain. 

I  once  had  recourse  to  my  pencil  as  a  despe- 
rate experiment.  I  painted  an  exact  resemblance 
of  this  phantom  face.  I  placed  it  before  me  in 
hopes  that  by  constantly  contemplating  the  copy 
I  might  diminish  the  effect  of  the  original.  But 
I  only  doubled  instead  of  diminishing  the  misery. 

Such  is  the  curse  that  has  clung  to  my  foot- 
steps— that  has  made  my  life  a  burthen — but 
the  thoughts  of  death,  terrible.  God  knows  what 
I  have  suffered.  What  days  and  days,  and 
nights  and  nights,  of  sleepless  torment*  What 
a  never-dying  worm  has  preyed  upon  my  heart  ; 
what  an  unquenchable  fire  has  burned  within 
my  brain.  He  knows  the  wrongs  that  wrought 
upon  my  poor  weak  nature ;  that  converted  the 
tenderest  of  affections  into  the  deadliest  of  fury. 
He  knows  best  whether  a  frail  errring  creature 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  163 

has  expiated  by  long-enduring  torture  and  mea- 
sureless remorse,  the  crime  of  a  moment  of  mad- 
ness. Often,  often  have  I  prostrated  myself  in 
the  dust,  and  implored  that  he  would  give  me,  a 

sign  of  his  forgiveness,  and  let  me  die. 

Thus  far  had  I  written  some  time  since.  I 
had  meant  to  leave  this  record  of  misery  and 
crime  with  you,  to  be  read  when  I  should  be  no 
more.  My  prayer  to  heaven  has  at  length  beej> 
heard.  You  were  witness  to  my  emotions  last 
evening  at  the  performance  of  the  Miserere ;  when 
the  vaulted  temple  resounded  with  the  words  of 
atonement  and  redemption.  I  heard  a  voice 
speaking  to  me  from  the  midst  of  the  music ;  I 
heard  it  rising  above  the  pealing  of  the  organ 
and  the  voices  of  the  choir  :  it  spoke  to  me  in 
tones  of  celestial  melody ;  it  promised  mercy  and 
forgiveness,  but  demanded  from  me  full  expia- 
tion. I  go  to  make  it.  To-morrow  I  shall  be 
on  my  way  to  Genoa  to  surrender  myself  to 
justice.  You  who  have  pitied  my  sufferings  ; 
who  have  poured  the  balm  of  sympathy  into  my 
wounds,  do  not  shrink  from  my  memory  with 


164  THE    STORY  OF 

abhorrence  now  that  you  know  my  story.  Re- 
collect, when  you  read  of  my  crime  I  shall  have 
atoned  for  it  with  my  blood ! 


When  the  Baronet  had  finished,  there  was  an 
universal  desire  expressed  to  see  the  painting  of 
this  frightful  visage.  After  much  entreaty  the 
Baronet  consented,  on  condition  that  they  should 
only  visit  it  one  by  one.  He  called  his  house- 
keeper and  gave  her  charge  to  conduct  the  gen- 
tlemen singly  to  the  chamber.  They  all  return- 
ed varying  in  their  stories:  some  affected  in 
one  way,  some  in  another ;  some  more,  some 
less;  but  all  agreeing  that  there  was  a  certain 
something  about  the  painting  that  had  a  very  odd 
effect  upon  the  feelings. 

I  stood  in  a  deep  bow  window  with  the  Baro- 
net, and  could  not  help  expressing  my  wonder. 
"After  all,"  said  I,  "there  are  certain  myste- 
ries in  our  nature,  certain  inscrutable  impulses 
and  influences,  that  warrant  one  in  being  super- 
stitious* Who  can  account  for  so  many  persons 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  165 

of  different  characters  being  thus  strangely  affect- 
ed, by  a  mere  painting  r" 

"  And  especially  when  not  one  of  them  has 
seen  it !"  said  the  Baronet  with  a  smile. 
"  How  ?"  exclaimed  I,  "  not  seen  it  ?" 
"  Not  one  of  them !"  replied  he,  laying  his  fin- 
ger on  his  lips  in  si^n  of  secrecy.     "  I  saw  that 
some  of  them  were  in  a  bantering  vein,  and  I  did 
not  choose  that  the  memento  of  the  poor  Italian 
should  be  made  a  jest  of.     So  I  gave  the  house- 
keeper a  hint  to  show  them  all  to  a  different 
chamber !" 


Thus  end  the  Stories  of  the  Nervous  Gentle- 
man. 


PART  J. 


TALES 


OP 


A    TRAVELLER, 


BY  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT. 

OF    "  THE    SKETCH    BOOK,"    "  BRACEBRIDQE    HALL," 

"  KNICKERBOCKER'S  NEW-YORK,**  &c. 


PHILADELPHIA . 
H.  C.  CAREY  &  I.  LEA,  CHESNUT-STREET: 

1824; 


v  Av  . 


Southern  District  of  New-York,  ss. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  August, 
A.D.  1824,  in  the  forty-ninth  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  C.  S.  Van  Winkle,  of  the  said  district,  hath  de- 
posited in  this  office  the  title  of  a  book,  the  right  whereof  he 
claims  as  proprietor,  in  the  words  following,  to  wit : 

"  Tales  of  a  Traveller,  Part  II.  By  Geoffrey  Crayon,  Gent.  Au- 
thor of  «  The  Sketch  Book,"  «  Bracebridge  Hall,"  «  Knickerbocker's 
New- York,"  &c. 

IN  CONFORMITY  to  the  act  of  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
entitled,  "An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing 
the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  pro- 
prietors of  such  copies,  during  the  time  therein  mentioned  ;"  and 
also,  to  an  act  entitled,  "  An  act  supplementary  to  an  act,  enti- 
tled, an  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the 
copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors 
of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,"  and  extend- 
ing the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and 
etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

JAMES  DILL, 

Clerk  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York, 


Printed  by  C.  S.  Van  Winkle, 
No.  2  Thames-street,  New- York. 


CONTENTS  OF  PART  IF. 


Page 

BUCKTHORNE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS,. 5 

Literary  Life, 7 

A  Literary  Dinner, 13' 

The  Club  of  Queer  Fellows, 21 

The  Poor  Devil  Author, 33 

Buckthorne,  or  the  Young  Man  of  Great  Expectations,.  .  .     69 

Grave  Reflections  of  a  Disappointed  Man, 163 

The  Booby  Squire, 175 

The  Strolling  Manager, 137 


BUCKTHORNS  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 


u  'Tis  a  very  good  world  that  we  live  in, 
To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in ; 
But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  get  a  man's  own, 
Tis  the  very  worst  world,  sir,  that  ever  was  known.'* 
LINES  FROM  AN  INN  WINDOW. 


I'ABT  11. 


4-  * 


LITERARY  LIFE, 


AMONG  the  great  variety  of  characters  which 
fall  in  a  traveller's  way,  I  became  acquainted  du- 
ring my  sojourn  in  London,  with  an  eccentric 
personage  of  the  name  of  Buckthorne.  He  was 
a  literary  man,  had  lived  much  in  the  metropo- 
lis, and  had  acquired  a  great  deal  of  curious, 
though  unprofitable  knowledge  concerning  it. 
He  was  a  great  observer  of  character,  and  could 
give  the  natural  history  of  every  odd  animal  that 
presented  itself  in  this  great  wilderness  of  men. 
Finding  me  very  curious  about  literary  life  and 
literary  characters,  he  took  much  pains  to  gratify 
my  curiosity. 

"  The  literary  world  of  England,"  said  he  to 
me  one  day,  "  is  made  up  of  a  number  of  little 
fraternities,  each  existing  merely  for  itself,  and 
thinking  the  rest  of  the  world  created  only  to  look 


8  LITERARY    LIFE. 

on  and  admire.  It  may  be  resembled  to  the 
firmament,  consisting  of  a  number  of  systems, 
each  composed  of  its  own  central  sun  with  its 
revolving  train  of  moons  and  satellites,  all  acting 
in  the  most  harmonious  concord ;  but  the  com- 
parison fails  in  part,  inasmuch  as  the  literary 
world  has  no  general  concord.  Each  system  acts 
independently  of  the  rest,  and  indeed  considers 
all  other  stars  as  mere  exhalations  and  transient 
meteors,  beaming  for  a  while  with  false  fires,  but 
doomed  soon  to  fall  and  be  forgotten  ;  while  its 
own  luminaries  are  the  lights  of  the  universe, 
destined  to  increase  in  splendour  and  to  shine 
steadily  on  to  immortality  " 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  is  a  man  to  get  a 
peep  into  one  of  these  systems  you  talk  of?  I 
presume  an  intercourse  with  authors  is  a  kind  of 
intellectual  exchange,  where  one  must  bring  his 
commodities  to  barter,  and  always  give  a  quid 
pro  quo." 

"  Pooh,  pooh — how  you  mistake,"  said  Buck- 
thorne,  smiling :  "  you  must  never  think  to  be- 
come popular  among  wits  by  shining.  They  go 


LITERARY  LIFE.  9 

into  society  to  shine  themselves,  not  to  admire 
the  brilliancy  of  others.     I  thought  as  you  do 
when  I  first  cultivated  the  society  of  men  of  let- 
ters, and  never  went  to  a  blue  stocking  coterie 
without  studying  my  part  before  hand  as  dili- 
gently as  an  actor.     The  consequence   was,  I 
soon  got  the  name  of  an  intolerable  proser,  and 
should  in  a  little  while  have  been  completely  ex- 
communicated had  I  not  changed  my  plan  of 
operations.     From  thenceforth  I  became  a  most 
assiduous  listener,  or  if  ever  I  were  eloquent,  it 
was  tete-a-tete  with  an  author,  in  praise  of  his 
own  works,  or  what  is  nearly  as  acceptable,  in 
disparagement  of  the  works  of  his  contempora- 
ries.    If  ever  he  spoke  favourably  of  the  produc- 
tions of  some  particular  friend,  I  ventured  boldly 
to  dissent  from  him,  and  to  prove  that  his  friend 
was  a  blockhead,  and  much  as  people  say  of  the 
pertinacity  and  irritability  of  authors  I   never 
found  one  to  take  offence  at  my  contradictions. 
No,  no,  sir,  authors  are  particularly  candid  in 
admitting  the  faults  of  their  friends. 

"  Indeed,  I  was  extremely  sparing  of  my  re- 


10-  LITERARY  LIFE. 

marks  on  all  modern  works,  excepting  to  make 
sarcastic  observations  on  the  most  distinguished 
writers  of  the  day.  I  never  ventured  to  praise 
an  author  that  had  not  been  dead  at  least  half  a 
century ;  and  even  then  I  was  rather  cautious ; 
for  you  must  know  that  many  old  writers  have 
been  enlisted  under  the  banners  of  different  sects, 
and  their  merits  have  become  as  complete  topics 
of  party  prejudice  and  dispute,  as  the  merits  of 
living  statesmen  and  politicians.  Nay,  there 
have  been  whole  periods  of  literature  absolutely 
tabooed,  to  use  a  South  Sea  phrase.  It  is,  for 
example,  as  much  as  a  man's  reputation  is  worth, 
in  some  circles,  to  say  a  word  in  praise  of  any 
writers  of  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  or 
even  of  Queen  Anne  ;  they  being  all  declared  to 
be  Frenchmen  in  disguise." 

"  And  pray,  then,"  said  I,  "  when  am  I  to 
know  that  I  am  on  safe  grounds ;  being  totally 
unacquainted  with  the  literary  landmarks  and 
the  boundary  lines  of  fashionable  taste  ?" 

"  Oh,"  replied  he,  "  there  is  fortunately  one 


LITERARY  LIFE.  II 

tract  of  literature  that  forms  a  kind  of  neutral 
ground,  on  which  all  the  literary  world  meet 
amicably  ;  lay  down  their  weapons,  and  even  run 
riot  in  their  excess  of  good  humour,  and  this  is, 
the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  James.  Here  you 
may  praise  away  at  a  venture ;  here  it  is  '  cut 
and  come  again,'  and  the  more  obscure  the  au- 
thor, and  the  more  quaint  and  crabbed  his  style, 
the  more  your  admiration  will  smack  of  the  real 
relish  of  the  connoisseur ;  whose  taste,  like  that 
of  an  epicure,  is  always  for  game  that  has  an 
antiquated  flavour. 

"  But,"  continued  he,  "  as  you  seem  anxious 
to  know  something  of  literary  society  I  will  take 
an  opportunity  to  introduce  you  to  some  coterie, 
where  the  talents  of  the  day  are  assembled.  I 
cannot  promise  you,  however,  that  they  will  be 
of  the  first  order.  Some  how  or  other,  our  great 
geniuses  are  not  gregarious,  they  do  not  go  in 
flocks  ;  but  fly  singly  in  general  society.  They 
prefer  mingling,  like  common  men,  with  the  mul- 
titude ;  and  are  apt  to  carry  nothing  of  the  author 


!  ;.'.; 

12  LITERARY  LIFE. 

about  them  but  the  reputation.  It  is  only  the 
inferior  orders  that  herd  together,  acquire 
strength  and  importance  by  their  confederacies, 
and  bear  all  the  distinctive  characteristics  of 
their  species." 


A  LITERARY  DINNER. 


A  FEW  days  after  this  conversation  with  Mr. 
Buckthorne,  he  called  upon  me,  and  took  me 
with  him  to  a  regular  literary  dinner.  It  was 
given  by  a  great  bookseller,  or  rather  a  company 
of  booksellers,  whose  firm  surpassed  in  length 
even  that  of  Shadrach,  Meshach,  and  Abed-nego. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  between  twenty  and 
thirty  guests  assembled,  most  of  whom  I  had 
never  seen  before.  Buckthorne  explained  this 
to  me  by  informing  me  that  this  was  a  "  business 
dinner,"  or  kind  of  field  day,  which  the  house 
gave  about  twice  a  year  to  its  authors.  It  is 
true,  they  did  occasionally  give  snug  dinners  to 
three  or  four  literary  men  at  a  time,  but  then 
these  were  generally  select  authors ;  favourites 
of  the  public ;  such  as  had  arrived  at  their  sixth 
and  seventh  editions.  "There  are,"  said  he, 

PART  II.  3 


14  A  LITERARY  DINNER. 

"  certain  geographical  boundaries  in  the  land  of 
literature,  and  you  may  judge  tolerably  well  of 
an  author's  popularity,  by  the  wine  his  bookseller 
gives  him.  An  author  crosses  the  port  line 
about  the  third  edition  and  gets  into  claret,  but 
when  he  has  reached  the  sixth  and  seventh,  he 
may  revel  in  champaigne  and  burgundy." 

"  Arid  pray,'3  said  I,  "  how  far  may  these  gen- 
tlemen have  reached  that  I  see  around  me ;  are 
any  of  these  claret  drinkers  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,  not  exactly.  You  find  at  these 
great  dinners  the  common  steady  run  of  authors, 
one,  two,  edition  men  ;  or  if  any  others  are  invi- 
ted they  are  aware  that  it  is  a  kind  of  republican 
meeting. — You  understand  me- — a  meeting  of 
the  republic  of  letters,  and  that  they  must  expect 
nothing  but  plain  substantial  fare." 

These  hints  enabled  me  to  comprehend  more 
fully  the  arrangement  of  the  table.  The  two 
ends  were  occupied  by  two  partners  of  the  house. 
And  the  host  seemed  to  have  adopted  Addison's 
ideas  as  to  the  literary  precedence  of  his  guests. 
A  popular  poet  had  the  post  of  honour,  opposite 


A  LITERARY  DINNER.  16 

to  whom  was  a  hot  pressed  traveller  in  quarto, 
with  plates.  A  grave  looking  antiquarian,  who 
had  produced  several  solid  works,  which  were 
much  quoted  and  little  read,  was  treated  with 
great  respect,  and  seated  next  to  a  neat  dressy  gen- 
tleman in  black,  who  had  written  a  thin,  genteel, 
hot  pressed  octavo  on  political  economy,  that  was 
getting  into  fashion.  Several  three  volume  duo- 
decimo men  of  fair  currency  were  placed  about 
the  centre  of  the  table  ;  while  (he  lower  end  was 
taken  up  with  small  poets,  translators,  and  au- 
thors, who  had  not  as  yet  risen  into  much  notice. 
The  conversation  during  dinner  was  by  fits  and 
starts ;  breaking  out  here  and  there  in  various 
parts  of  the  table  in  small  flashes,  and  ending  in 
smoke.  The  poet  who  had  the  confidence  of  a 
man  on  good  terms  with  the  world  and  independ- 
ent of  his  bookseller,  was  very  gay  and  brilliant, 
and  said  many  clever  things,  which  set  the  part- 
ner next  him  in  a  roar,  and  delighted  all  the  com- 
pany. The  other  partner,  however,  maintained 
his  sedateness,  and  kept  carving  on,  with  the  air 
of  a  thorough  man  of  business,  latent  upon  the 


16  A  LITERARY  DINNER. 

occupation  of  the  moment.  His  gravity  was  ex- 
plained to  me  by  my  friend  Buckthorne.  He 
informed  me  that  the  concerns  of  the  house  were 
admirably  distributed  among  the  partners. — 
"  Thus,  for  instance,"  said  he,  "  the  grave  gen- 
tleman is  the  carving  partner  who  attends  to  the 
joints,  and  the  other  is  the  laughing  partner  who 
attends  to  the  jokes." 

The  general  conversation  was  chiefly  carried 
on  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  ;  as  the  authors 
there  seemed  to  possess  the  greatest  courage  of 
the  tongue.  As  to  the  crew  at  the  lower  end,  if 
they  did  not  make  much  figure  in  talking  they 
did  in  eating.  Never  was  there  a  more  deter- 
mined, inveterate,  thoroughly  sustained  attack 
on  the  trencher,  than  by  this  phalanx  of  mastica- 
tors. When  the  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine 
began  to  circulate,  they  grew  very  merry  and  jo- 
cose among  themselves.  Their  jokes,  hoivever, 
if  by  chance  any  of  them  reached  the  upper  end 
of  the  table,  seldom  produced  much  effect.  Even 
the  laughing  partner  did  not  seem  to  think  it  ne- 
cessary to  honour  them  with  a  smile ;  which  my 


\  • 

A  LITERARY  DINNER.  17 

neighbour  Buckthorne  accounted  for,  by  inform- 
ing me  that  there  was  a  certain  degree  of  popula- 
rity to  be  obtained,  before  a  bookseller  could  af- 
ford to  laugh  at  an  author's  jokes. 

Among  this  crew  of  questionable  gentlemen 
thus  seated  below  the  salt,  my  eye  singled  out 
one  in  particular.     He  was  rather  shabbily  dress- 
ed ;  though  he  had  evidently  made  the  most  of  a 
rusty  black  coat,  and  wore  his  shirt  frill  plaited 
and  puffed  out  voluminously  at  the  bosom.     His 
face  was  dusky,  but  florid — perhaps  a  little  too 
florid,   particularly  about  the  nose,  though  the 
rosy  hue  gave  the  greater  lustre  to  a  twinkling 
black  eye.     He  had  a  little  the  look  of  a  boon 
companion,  with  that  dash  of  the  poor  devil  in 
it  which  gives  an  inexpressibly  mellow  tone  to  a 
man's  humour.    I  had  seldom  seen  a  face  of  rich- 
er promise ;  but  never  was  promise  so  ill  kept. 
He  said  nothing ;  ate  and  drank  with  the  keen 
appetite  of  a  gazetteer,  and  scarcely  stopped  to 
laugh  even  at  the  good  jokes  from  the  upper  end 
of  the  table.     I  inquired  who  he  was.     Buck- 


18  A  LITERARY  DINNER. 

thorne  looked  at  him  attentively.  "  Gad,"  said 
he,  "  I  have  seen  that  face  before,  but  where  I 
cannot  recollect.  He  cannot  be  an  author  of 
any  note.  I  suppose  some  writer  of  sermons  or 
grinder  of  foreign  travels." 

After  dinner  we  retired  to  another  room  to 
take  tea  and  coffee,  where  we  were  reinforced 
by  a  cloud  of  inferior  guests.  Authors  of  small 
volumes  in  boards,  and  pamphlets  stitched  in 
blue  paper.  These  had  not  as  yet  arrived  to  the 
importance  of  a  dinner  invitation,  but  were  in- 
vited occasionally  to  pass  the  evening  "  in  a 
friendly  way."  They  were  very  respectful  to 
the  partners,  and  indeed  seemed  to  stand  a  little 
in  awe  of  them  ;  but  they  paid  very  devoted 
court  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  were  extrava- 
gantly fond  of  the  children.  I  looked  round  for 
the  poor  devil  author  in  the  rusty  black  coat  and 
magnificent  frill,  but  he  had  disappeared  imme- 
diately after  leaving  the  table;  having  a  dread, 
no  doubt,  of  the  glaring  light  of  a  drawing  room. 
Finding  nothing  farther  to  interest  my  attention, 


A  LITERARY   DINNER 


1  took  my  departure  as  soon  as  coffee  had  been 
served,  leaving  the  port  and  the  thin,  genteel, 
hot-pressed,  octavo  gentlemen,  masters  of  the 
iield. 


THE 


CLUB  OF  QJJEER  FELLOWS. 


I  THINK  it  was  but  the  very  next  evening  that 
in  coming  out  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  with  my 
eccentric  friend  Buckthorne,  he  proposed  to  give 
me  another  peep  at  life  and  character.  Finding 
me  willing  for  any  research  of  the  kind,  he  took 
me  through  a  variety  of  the  narrow  courts  and 
lanes  about  Covent  Garden,  until  we  stopped  be- 
fore a  tavern  from  which  we  heard  the  bursts  of 
merriment  of  a  jovial  party.  There  would  be 
a.  loud  peal  of  laughter,  then  an  interval,  then 
another  peal,  as  if  a  prime  wag  were  telling  a 
story.  After  a  little  while  there  was  a  song,  and 
at  the  close  of  each  stanza  a  hearty  roar  and  a 
vehement  thumping  on  the  table. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  whispered  Buckthorne. 

PART  II.  4 


22      THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 

"  It  is  the  '  Club  of  Queer  Fellows.'  A  great 
resort  of  the  small  wits,  third  rate  actors,  and 
newspaper  critics  of  the  theatres.  Any  one  can 
go  in  on  paying  a  shilling  at  the  bar  for  the  use 
of  the  club." 

We  entered,  therefore,  without  ceremony,  and 
took  our  seats  at  a  lone  table  in  a  dusky  corner 
of  the  room.  The  club  was  assembled  round  a 
table,  on  which  stood  beverages  of  various  kinds, 
according  to  the  taste  of  the  individual.  The 
members  were  a  set  of  queer  fellows  indeed  ;  but 
what  was  my  surprise  on  recognizing  in  the 
prime  wit  of  the  meeting  the  poor  devil  author 
whom  I  had  remarked  at  the  booksellers' 
dinner  for  his  promising  face  and  his  complete 
taciturnity.  Matters,  however,  were  entire- 
ly changed  with  him.  There  he  was  a  mere 
cypher:  here  he  was  lord  of  the  ascendant; 
the  choice  spirit,  the  dominant  genius.  He  sat 
at  the  head  of  the  table  with  his  hat  on,  and  an 
eye  beaming  even  more  luminously  than  his  nose. 
He  had  a  quiz  and  a  fillip  for  every  one,  and  a 
good  thing  on  every  occasion.  Nothing  could 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.       23 

be  said  or  done  without  eliciting  a  spark  from 
him  ;  and  I  solemnly  declare  I  have  heard  much 
worse  wit  even  from  noblemen.  His  jokes,  it 
must  be  confessed,  were  rather  wet,  but  they 
suited  the  circle  in  which,  he  presided.  The 
company  were  in  that  maudlin  mood  when  a 
little  wit  goes  a  great  way.  Every  time  he 
opened  his  lips  there  was  sure  to  be  a  roar,  and 
sometimes  before  he  had  time  to  speak. 

We  were  fortunate  enough  to  enter  in  time  for 
a  glee  composed  by  him  expressly  for  the  club, 
and  which  he  sang  with  two  boon  companions, 
who  would  have  been  worthy  subjects  for  Ho- 
garth's pencil.  As  they  were  each  provided  with 
a  written  copy,  I  was  enabled  to  procure  the 
reading  of  it. 

Merrily,  merrily  push  round  the  glass, 

And  merrily  troll  the  glee, 
Tor  he  who  won't  drink  till  he  wink  is  an  ass. 

So  neighbour  I  drink  to  thee. 
Merrily,  merrily  puddle  thy  nose, 

Until  it  right  rosy  shall  be ; 
For  a  jolly  red  nose,  I  speak  under  the  rose, 

Is  a  sign  of  good  company. 


24      THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 

We  waited  until  the  party  broke  up,  and  no 
one  but  the  wit  remained.     He  sat  at  the  table 
with  his  legs  stretched  under  it,  and  wide  apart ; 
his  hands   in  his  breeches  pockets;    his   head 
drooped  upon  his  breast ;  and  gazing  with  lack- 
lustre countenance  on  an  empty  tankard.     His 
gayety  was  gone,  his  fire  completely  quenched. 
My   companion  approached  and  startled  him 
from  his  fit  of  brown  study,  introducing  himself  . 
on  the  strength  of  their  having  dined  together  at 
the  booksellers'. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  it  seems  to  me  I 
have  seen  you  before ;  your  face  is  surely  the 
face  of  an  old  acquaintance,  though  for  the  life 
of  me  I  cannot  tell  where  I  have  known  you." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  he  with  a  smile ;  "  ma- 
ny of  my  old  friends  have  forgotten  me.  Though, 
to  tell  the  truth,  my  memory  in  this  instance  is 
as  bad  as  your  own.  If  however  it  will  assist 
your  recollection  in  any  way,  my  name  is  Tho- 
mas Dribble,  at  your  service." 

"  What,  Tom  Dribble,  who  was  at  old  Bir- 
chell's  school  in  Warwickshire  ?" 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.      25 

«  The  same,"  said  the  other,  coolly.  "  Why 
then  we  are  old  schoolmates,  though  it's  no 
wonder  you  don't  recollect  me.  I  was  your 
junior  by  several  years;  don't  you  recollect  little 
Jack  Buckthorne  ?" 

Here  then  ensued  a  scene  of  school  fellow  re- 
cognition ;  and  a  world  of  talk  about  old  school 
times  and  school  pranks.  Mr.  Dribble  ended  by 
observing,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "  that  times  were 
sadly  changed  since  those  days." 

"  Faith,  Mr.  Dribble,"  said  I,  "  you  seem 
quite  a  different  man  here  from  what  you  were 
at  dinner.  I  had  no  idea  that  you  had  so  much 
stuff  in  you.  There  you  were  all  silence  ;  but 
here  you  absolutely  keep  the  table  in  a  roar." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  he,  with  a  shake 
of  the  head  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  "  I'm 
a  mere  glow  worm.  I  never  shine  by  daylight. 
Besides,  it's  a  hard  thing  for  a  poor  devil  of  an 
author  to  shine  at  the  table  of  a  rich  book- 
seller. Who  do  you  think  would  laugh  at  any 
thing  I  could  say,  when  I  had  some  of  the  current 
wits  of  the  day  about  me  ?  But  here,  though  a 
poor  devil,  I  am  among  still  poorer  devils  than 


26      THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 

myself ;  men  who  look  up  to  me  as  a  man  of  let- 
ters and  a  bel  esprit,  and  all  my  jokes  pass  as 
sterling  gold  from  the  mint." 

"  You  surely  do  yourself  injustice,  sir,"  said  I ; 
"  I  have  certainly  heard  more  good  things  from 
you  this  evening  than  from  any  of  those  beaux 
esprits  by  whom  you  appear  to  have  been  so 
daunted." 

"  Ah,  sir !  but  they  have  luck  on  their  side  ; 
they  are  in  the  fashion — there's  nothing  like 
being  in  fashion.  A  man  that  has  once  got 
his  character  up  for  a  wit,  is  always  sure  of  a 
laugh,  say  what  he  may.  He  may  utter  as 
much  nonsense  as  he  pleases,  and  all  will  pass 
current  No  one  stops  to  question  the  coin  of  a 
rich  man  ;  but  a  poor  devil  cannot  pass  off  either 
a  joke  or  a  guinea,  without  its  being  examined  on 
both  sides.  Wit  and  coin  are  always  doubted 
with  a  threadbare  coat. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  he,  giving  his  hat  a 
twitch  a  little  more  on  one  side,  "  for  my  part,  I 
hate  your  fine  dinners  ;  there's  nothing,  sir,  like 
the  freedom  of  a  chop  house.  I'd  rather  any  time,. 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.      27 

have  my  steak  and  tankard  among  my  own  set, 
than  drink  claret  and  eat  venison  with  your  cur- 
sed civil,  elegant  company,  who  never  laugh  at  a 
good  joke  from  a  poor  devil,  for  fear  of  its  being 
vulgar.  A  good  joke  grows  in  a  wet  soil;  it 
flourishes  in  low  places,  but  withers  on  yourd — d 
high,  dry  grounds.  I  once  kept  high  company, 
sir,  until  I  nearly  ruined  myself;  I  grew  so  dull, 
and  vapid,  and  genteel.  Nothing  saved  me  but 
being  arrested  by  my  landlady  and  thrown  into 
prison  ;  where  a  course  of  catch  clubs,  eight  pen- 
ny ale,  and  poor  devil  company,  manured  my 
mind  and  brought  it  back  to  itself  again." 

As  it  was  now  growing  late  we  parted  for  the 
evening  ;  though  I  felt  anxious  to  know  more  of 
this  practical  philosopher.  I  was  glad,  therefore, 
when  Buckthorne  proposed  to  have  another 
meeting  to  talk  over  old  school  times,  and  inqui- 
red his  schoolmate's  address.  The  latter  seem- 
ed at  first  a  little  shy  of  naming  his  lodgings ;  but 
suddenly  assuming  an  air  of  hardihood — "  Green 
Arbour  court, -sir,"  exclaimed  he — "  number  — 
in  Green  Arbour  court,  YQU  must  know  the 


28      THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 

place.  Classic  ground,  sir  !  classic  ground !  It 
was  there  Goldsmith  wrote  his  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field.  I  always  like  to  live  in  literary  haunts." 

I  was  amused  with  this  whimsical  apology  for 
shabby  quarters.  On  our  way  homewards  Buck- 
thorne  assured  me  that  this  Dribble  had  been  the 
prime  wit  and  great  wag  of  the  school  in  their 
boyish  days,  and  one  of  those  unlucky  urchins 
denominated  bright  geniuses.  As  he  perceived 
me  curious  respecting  his  old  schoolmate,  he 
promised  to  take  me  with  him  in  his  proposed 
visit  to  Green  Arbour  court. 

A  few  mornings  afterwards  he  called  upon  me, 
and  we  set  forth  on  our  expedition.  He  led  me 
through  a  variety  of  singular  alleys,  and  courts, 
and  blind  passages ;  for  he  appeared  to  be  pro- 
foundly versed  in  all  the  intricate  geography  of 
the  metropolis.  At  length  we  came  out  upon 
Fleet  Market,  and  traversing  it,  turned  up  a  nar- 
row street  to  the  bottom  of  a  long  steep  flight  of 
stone  steps,  named  Break-neck  Stairs.  These, 
he  told  me,  led  up  to  Green  Arbour  court,  and 
that  down  them  poor  Goldsmith  might  m  any  a 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.       29 

time  have  risked  his  neck.  When  we  entered 
the  court,  I  could  not  but  smile  to  think  in  what 
out  of  the  way  corners  genius  produces  her  bant- 
lings !  And  the  muses,  those  capricious  dames, 
who,  forsooth,  so  often  refuse  to  visit  palaces, 
and  deny  a  single  smile  to  votaries  in  splendid 
studies  and  gilded  drawing  rooms, — what  holes 
and  burrows  will  they  frequent  to  lavish  their 
favours  on  some  ragged  disciple  ! 

This  Green  Arbour  court  I  found  to  be  a  small 
square  of  tall  and  miserable  houses,  the  very  in- 
testines of  which  seemed  turned  inside  out,  to 
judge  from  the  old  garments  and  frippery  that 
fluttered  from  every  window.  It  appeared  to 
be  a  region  of  washerwomen,  and  lines  were 
stretched  about  the  little  square,  on  which  clothes 
were  dangling  to  dry.  Just  as  we  entered  the 
square,  a  scuffle  took  place  between  two  virago's 
about  a  disputed  right  to  a  washtub,  and  imme- 
diately the  whole  community  was  in  a  hubbub. 
Heads  in  mob  caps  popped  out  of  every  window, 
and  such  a  ^clamour  of  tongues  ensued  that  1 
was  fain  to  stop  my  ears.  Every  Amazon  took 

PART  IT.  $• 


30       THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 

part  with  one  or  other  of  the  disputants,  and 
brandished  her  arms  dripping  with  soapsuds,  and 
fired  away  from  her  window  as  from  the  embra- 
zure  of  a  fortress ;  while  the  swarms  of  children 
nestled  and  cradled  in  every  procreant  chamber 
of  this  hive,  waking  with  the  noise,  set  up  their 
shrill  pipes  to  swell  the  general  concert. 

Poor  Goldsmith  !  what  a  time  must  he  have 
had  of  it,  with  his  quiet  disposition  and  nervous 
habits,  penned  up  in  this  den  of  noise  and  vul- 
garity. How  strange  that  while  every  sight 

and  sound  was  sufficient  to  imbitter  the  heart 

/> 

and  fill  it  with  misanthropy,  his  pen  should  be 
dropping  the  honey  of  Hybla.  Yet  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  he  drew  many  of  his  inimita- 
ble pictures  of  low  life  from  the  scenes  which 
surrounded  him  in  this  abode.  The  circumstance 
of  Mrs.  Tibbs  being  obliged  to  wash  her  hus- 
band's two  shirts  in  a  neighbour's  house,  who  re- 
fused to  lend  her  washtub,  may  have  been  no 
sport  of  fancy,  but  a  fact  passing  under  his  own 
eye.  His  landlady  may  have  sat  for  the  picture, 
and  Beau  Tibbs'  scanty  wardrobe  have  been  a 
fac  simile  of  his  own. 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.      31 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  we  found  our 
way  to  Dribble's  lodgings.  They  were  up  two 
pair  of  stairs,  in  a  room  that  looked  upon  the 
court,  and  when  we  entered  he  was  seated  on  the 
edge  of  his  bed,  writing  at  a  broken  table.  He 
received  us,  however,  with  a  free,  open,  poor 
devil  air,  that  was  irresistible.  It  is  true  he  did 
at  first  appear  slightly  confused  ;  buttoned  up  his 
waistcoat  a  little  higher  and  tucked  in  a  stray 
frill  of  linen.  But  he  recollected  himself  in  an 
instant ;  gave  a  half  swagger,  half  leer,  as  he 
stepped  forth  to  receive  us ;  drew  a  three-legged 
stool  for  Mr.  Buckthorne ;  pointed  me  to  a  lum- 
bering old  damask  chair  that  looked  like  a  de- 
throned monarch  in  exile,  and  bade  us  welcome 
to  his  garret. 

We  soon  got  engaged  in  conversation.  Buck- 
thorne and  he  had  much  to  say  about  early 
school  scenes;  and  as  nothing  opens  a  man's 
heart  more  than  recollections  of  the  kind  we 
soon  drew  from  him  a  brief  outline  of  his  literary 
career. 


THE 
POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 


I  BEGAN  life  unluckily  by  being  the  wag  and 
bright  fellow  at  school ;  and  I  had  the  farther 
misfortune  of  becoming  the  great  genius  of  my 
native  village.  My  father  was  a  country  attor- 
ney, and  intended  that  I  should  succeed  him  in 
business ;  but  I  had  too  much  genius  to  study, 
and  he  was  too  fond  of  my  genius  to  force  it  into 
the  traces.  So  I  fell  into  bad  company  and  took 
to  bad  habits.  Do  not  mistake  me.  I  mean  that 
I  fell  into  the  company  of  village  literati  and  vil- 
lage blues,  and  took  to  writing  village  poetry. 

It  was  quite  the  fashion  in  the  village  to  be 
literary.  We  had  a  little  knot  of  choice  spirits 
who  assembled  frequently  together,  formed  our- 
selves into  a  Literary,  Scientific  and  Philoso^hi- 


34        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

cal  Society,  and  fancied  ourselves  the  most  learn- 
ed philos  in  existence.  Every  one  had  a  great 
character  assigned  him,  suggested  by  some  casu- 
al habit  or  affectation.  One  heavy  fellow  drank 
an  enormous  quantity  of  tea ;  rolled  in  his  arm 
chair,  talked  sententiously,  pronounced  dogmati- 
cally, and  was  considered  a  second  Dr.  Johnson ; 
another,  who  happened  to  be  a  curate,  uttered 
coarse  jokes,  wrote  doggerel  rhymes,  and  was  the 
Swift  of  our  association.  Thus  we  had  also  our 
Popes,  and  Goldsmiths,  and  Addisons,  and  a 
blue  stocking  lady  whose  drawing  room  we  fre- 
quented, who  corresponded  about  nothing  with 
all  the  world,  and  wrote  letters  with  the  stiffness 
and  formality  of  a  printed  book,  was  cried  up  as 
another  Mrs.  Montagu.  I  was,  by  common  con- 
sent, the  juvenile  prodigy,  the  poetical  youth, 
the  great  genius,  the  pride  and  hope  of  the  village, 
through  whom  it  was  to  become  one  day  as  ce- 
lebrated as  Stratford  on  Avon. 

My  father  died  and  left  me  his  blessing  and 
his  business.  His  blessing  brought  no  money 
into  my  pocket ;  and  as  to  his  business  it  soon 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.         35 

deserted  me  :  for  I  was  busy  writing  poetry,  and 
could  not  attend  to  law  ;  and  my  clients,  though 
they  had  great  respect  for  my  talents,  had  no 
faith  in  a  poetical  attorney. 

I  lost  my  business  therefore,  spent  my  money, 
and  finished  my  poem.  It  was  the  Pleasures  of 
Melancholy,  and  was  cried  up  to  the  skies  by  the 
whole  circle.  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  the 
Pleasures  of  Hope,  and  the  Pleasures  of  Memo- 
ry, though  each  had  placed  its  author  in  the  first 
rank  of  poets,  were  blank  prose  in  comparison. 
Our  Mrs.  Montagu  would  cry  over  it  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  It  was  pronounced  by  all  the 
members  of  the  Literary,  Scientific  and  Philoso- 
phical Society,  the  greatest  poem  of  the  age,  and 
all  anticipated  the  noise  it  would  make  in  the 
great  world.  There  was  not  a  doubt  but  the 
London  booksellers  would  be  mad  after  it,  and 
the  only  fear  of  my  friends  was,  that  1  would 
make  a  sacrifice  by  selling  it  too  cheap.  Every 
time  they  talked  the  matter  over  they  increased 
the  price.  They  reckoned  up  the  great  sums 
given  for  the  poems  of  certain  popular  writers, 


36         THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

and  determined  that  mine  was  worth  more  than 
all  put  together,  and  ought  to  be  paid  for  accord- 
ingly. For  my  part,  I  was  modest  in  my  ex- 
pectations, and  determined  that  I  would  be  satis- 
fied with  a  thousand  guineas.  So  I  put  rny 
poem  in  my  pocket  and  set  off  for  London. 

My  journey  was  joyous.  My  heart  was  light 
as  my  purse,  and  my  head  full  of  anticipations  of 
fame  and  fortune.  With  what  swelling  pride 
did  I  cast  my  eyes  upon  old  London  from  the 
heights  of  Highgate.  I  was  like  a  general  look- 
ing down  upon  a  place  he  expects  to  conquer. 
The  great  metropolis  lay  stretched  before  me, 
buried  under  a  home-made  cloud  of  murky 
smoke,  that  wrapped  it  from  the  brightness  of  a 
sunny  day,  and  formed  for  it  a  kind  of  artifi- 
cial bad  weather.  At  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
away  to  the  west,  the  smoke  gradually  decreas- 
ed until  all  was  clear  and  sunny,  and  the  view 
stretched  uninterrupted  to  the  blue  line  of  the 
Kentish  Hills. 

My  eye  turned   fondly  to  where  the  mighty 
cupola  of  St.  Paul's  swelled  dimly  through  this 


THE  POOR  DEVFL  AUTHOR.         37 

misty  chaos,  and  I  pictured  to  myself  the  solemn 
realm  of  learning  that  lies  about  its  base.  How 
soon  should  the  Pleasures  of  Melancholy  throw 
this  world  of  booksellers  and  printers  into  a  bus- 
tle of  business  and  delight !  How  soon  should 
I  hear  my  name  repeated  by  printers'  devils 
throughout  Pater  Noster  Row,  and  Angel  Court, 
and  Ave  Maria  Lane,  until  Amen  corner  should 
echo  back  the  sound ! 

Arrived  in  town,  I  repaired  at  once  to  the 
most  fashionable  publisher.  Every  new  author 
patronizes  him  of  course.  In  fact,  it  had  been 
determined  in  the  village  circle  that  he  should 
be  the  fortunate  man.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
vaingloriously  I  walked  the  streets ;  my  head 
was  in  the  clouds.  I  felt  the  airs  of  heaven 
playing  about  it,  and  fancied  it  already  encircled 
by  a  halo  of  literary  glory.  As  I  passed  by  the 
windows  of  bookshops,  I  anticipated  the  time 
when  my  work  would  be  shining  among  the 
hotpiessed  wonders  of  the  day  ;  and  my  face, 
scratched  on  copper,  or  cut  in  wood,  figuring  in 

PART  II.  6 


58  THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOft. 

fellowship  with  those  of  Scott  and  Byron  and 
Moore. 

When  I  applied  at  the  publisher's  house  there 
was  something  in  the  loftiness  of  my  air,  and  the 
dinginess  of  my  dress,  that  struck  the  clerks 
with  reverence.  They  doubtless  took  me  for 
some  person  of  consequence,  probably  a  digger 
of  Greek  roots,  or  a  penetrator  of  pyramids.  A 
proud  man  in  a  dirty  shirt  is  always  an  imposing 
character  in  the  world  of  letters ;  one  must  feel 
intellectually  secure  before  he  can  venture  to 
dress  shabbily ;  none  but  a  great  scholar  or  a 
great  genius  dares  to  be  dirty  ;  so  I  was  ushered 
at  once  to  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  this  high 
priest  of  Minerva. 

The  publishing  of  books  is  a  very  different 
affair  now  a-days,  from  what  it  was  in  the  time 
of  Bernard  Lintot.  I  found  the  publisher  a 
fashionably  dressed  man,  in  an  elegant  drawing 
room,  furnished  with  sofas,  and  portraits  of 
celebrated  authors,  and  cases  of  splendidly  bound 
books.  He  was  writing  letters  at  an  elegant 
table.  This  was  transacting  business  in  style. 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR        39 

The  place  seemed  suited  to  the  magnificent 
publications  that  issued  from  it.  I  rejoiced  at 
the  choice  I  had  made  of  a  publisher,  for  I  al- 
ways liked  to  encourage  men  of  taste  and  spirit. 

I  stepped  up  to  the  table  with  the  lofty  poeti- 
cal port  that  I  had  been  accustomed  to  maintain 
in  our  village  circle ;  though  I  threw  in  it  some- 
thing of  a  patronizing  air,  such  as  one  feels  when 
about  to  make  a  man's  fortune.  The  publisher 
paused  with  his  pen  in  his  hand,  and  seemed 
waiting  in  mute  suspense  to  know  what  was  Jo 
be  announced  by  so  singular  an  apparition. 

I  put  him  at  his  ease  in  a  moment,  for  I  felt 
that  1  had  but  to  come,  see,  and  conquer.  I  made 
known  my  name,  and  the  name  of  my  poem ; 
produced  my  precious  roll  of  blotted  manuscript, 
laid  it  on  the  table  with  an  emphasis,  and  told 
him  at  once,  to  save  time  and  come  directly  to 
the  point,  the  price  was  one  thousand  guineas. 

I  had  given  him  no  time  to  speak,  nor  did  he 
seem  so  inclined.  He  continued  looking  at  me 
for  a  moment  with  an  air  of  whimsical  perplexity  ; 
scanned  me  from  head  to  foot;  looked  dowa  at 


40        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

the  manuscript,  then  up  again  at  me,  then  pointed 
to  a  chair ;  and  whistling  softly  to  himself,  went 
on  writing  his  letter. 

I  sat  for  some  time  waiting  his  reply,  suppo- 
sing he  was  making  up  his  mind  ;  but  he  only 
paused  occasionally  to  take  a  fresh  dip  of  ink  ; 
to  stroke  his  chin  or  the  tip  of  his  nose,  and  then 
resumed  his  writing.  It  was  evident  his  mind 
was  intently  occupied  upon  some  other  subject ; 
but  I  had  no  idea  that  any  other  subject  should 
be  attended  to  and  my  poem  lie  unnoticed  on  the 
table.  I  had  supposed  that  every  thing  would 
make  way  for  the  Pleasures  of  Melancholy. 

My  gorge  at  length  rose  within  me.  I  took  up 
my  manuscript;  thrust  it  into  iny  pocket,  and 
walked  out  of  the  room  ;  making  some  noise  as 
I  went,  to  let  my  departure  be  heard.  The  pub- 
lisher, however,  was  too  much  busied  in  minor 
concerns  to  notice  it.  I  was  suffered  to  walk 
down  stairs  without  being  called  back.  I  sallied 
forth  into  the  street,  but  no  clerk  was  sent  after 
me;  nor  did  the  publisher  call  after  me  from  the 
drawing  room  window.  I  have  been  told  since, 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.        41 

that  he  considered  me  either  a  madman  or  a  fool. 
I  leave  you  to  judge  how  much  he  was  in  the 
wrong  in  his  opinion. 

When  I  turned  the  corner  my  crest  fell.  I 
cooled  down  in  my  pride  and  my  expectations, 
and  reduced  my  terms  with  the  next  bookseller 
to  whom  I  applied.  I  had  no  better  success :  nor 
with  a  third  ;  nor  with  a  fourth.  I  then  desired 
the  booksellers  to  make  an  offer  themselves  ;  but 
the  deuce  an  offer  would  they  make.  They  told 
me  poetry  was  a  mere  drug ;  every  body  wrote 
poetry ;  the  market  was  overstocked  with  it. 
And  then,  they  said,  the  title  of  my  poem  was  not 
taking :  that  pleasures  of  all  kinds  were  worn 
threadbare  ;  nothing  but  horrors  did  now  a-days, 
and  even  these  were  almost  worn  out.  Tales  of 
pirates,  robbers,  and  bloody  Turks  might  answer 
tolerably  well ;  but  then  they  must  come  from 
some  established  well-known  name,  or  the  pub- 
lic would  not  look  at  them. 

At  last  I  offered  to  leave  my  poem  with  a  book- 
seller to  read  it  and  judge  for  himself.  "  Why, 
really,  my  dear  Mr. — a — a — I  forget  your  name," 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR, 

said  he,  cutting  an  eye  at  my  rusty  coat  and  shab- 
by gaiters,  "really,  sir,  we  are  so  pressed  with 
business  just  now,  and  have  so  many  manuscripts 
on  hand  to  read,  that  we  have  not  time  to  look 
at  any  new  production,  but  if  you  can  call  again 
in  a  week  or  two,  or  say  the  middle  of  next 
month,  wre  may  be  able  to  look  over  your  wri- 
tings and  give  you  an  answer.  Don't  forget,  the 
month  after  next — good  morning,  sir — happy  to 
see  you  any  time  you  are  passing  this  way" — so 
saying  he  bowed  me  out  in  the  civilest  way  ima- 
ginable. In  short,  sir,  instead  of  an  eager  com- 
petition to  secure  my  poem  I  could  not  even  get 
it  read!  In  the  mean  time  I  was  harassed  by 
letters  from  my  friends,  wanting  to  know  when 
the  work  was  to  appear ;  who  was  to  be  my  pub- 
lisher ;  but  above  all  things  warning  me  not  to 
let  it  go  too  cheap. 

There  was  but  one  alternative  left.  I  deter- 
mined to  publish  the  poem  myself;  and  to  have 
my  triumph  over  the  booksellers,  when  it  should 
become  the  fashion  of  the  day.  I  accordingly 
published  the  Pleasures  of  Melancholy  and  ruin- 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.  43' 

ed  myself.  Excepting  the  copies  sent  to  the  re- 
views, and  to  my  friends  in  the  country,  not  one, 
I  believe,  ever  left  the  bookseller's  warehouse. 
The  printer's  bill  drained  my  purse,  and  the  only 
notice  that  was  taken  of  my  work  was  contained 
in  the  advertisements  paid  for  by  myself. 

I  could  have  borne  all  this,  and  have  attribu- 
ted it  as  usual  to  the  mismanagement  of  the  pub- 
lisher, or  the  want  of  taste  in  the  public ;  and 
could  have  made  the  usual  appeal  to  posterity: 
but  my  village  friends  would  not  let  me  rest  in 
quiet.  They  were  picturing  me  to  themselves 
feasting  with  the  great,  communing  with  the  li- 
terary, and  in  the  high  course  of  fortune  and  re- 
nown. Every  little  while,  some  one  came  to 
me  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  the  village 
circle,  recommending  him  to  my  attentions,  and 
requesting  that  I  would  make  him  known  in  so- 
ciety ;  with  a  hint  that  an  introduction  to  the 
house  of  a  celebrated  literary  nobleman  would  be 
extremely  agreeable. 

I  determined,  therefore,  to  change  my  lodg- 
ings,  drop   my  correspondence,  and  disappear 


44        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

altogether  from  the  view  of  my  village  admirers. 
Besides,  I  was  anxious  to  make  one  more  poetic 
attempt.  I  was  by  no  means  disheartened  by 
the  failure  of  my  first.  My  poem  was  evidently 
too  didactic.  The  public  was  wise  enough.  It 
no  longer  read  for  instruction.  "  They  want 
horrors,  do  they  ?"  said  I,  "  Pfaith,  then  they 
shall  have  enough  of  them  "  So  I  looked  out 
for  some  quiet  retired  place,  where  I  might  be 
out  of  reach  of  my  friends,  arid  have  leisure  to 
cook  up  some  delectable  dish  of  poetical  "  hell- 
broth." 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  place  to  my 
mind,  when  chance  threw  me  in  the  way  of  Ca- 
nonbury  Castle.  It  is  an  ancient  brick  tower, 
hard  by  "  merry  Islington ;"  the  remains  of  a 
hunting  seat  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  where  she  took 
the  pleasures  of  the  country,  when  the  neigh- 
bourhood was  all  woodland.  What  gave  it  par- 
ticular interest  in  my  eyes,  was  the  circumstance 
that  it  had  been  the  residence  of  a  poet.  It  was 
here  Goldsmith  resided  when  he  wrote  his  De- 
serted Village.  I  was  shown  the  very  apart- 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.         45 

ment.     It  was  a  relique  of  -the  original  style  of 
the  castle,  with  pannelled  wainscots  and  gothic 
windows.     I  was  pleased  with  its  air  of  antiqui- 
ty, and  with  its  having  been  the  residence  of  poor 
Goldy.     "  Goldsmith  was  a  pretty  poet,"  said  I 
to  myself,  "  a  very  pretty  poet ;  though  rather 
of  the  old  school.     He  did  not  think  and  feel  so 
strongly  as  is  the  fashion  now  a-days :  but  had 
he  lived  in  these  times  of  hot  hearts  and  hot 
heads,  he  would  have  written  quite  differently." 
In  a  few  days.  I  was  quietly  established  in  my 
new  quarters;  my  books  all  arranged,  my  wri 
ting  desk  placed  by  a  window  looking  out  into 
the  fields;  and  I  felt  as  snug  as  Robinson  Crusoe, 
when  he  had  finished  his  bower.     For  several 
days  1  enjoyed  all  the  novelty  of  change  and  the 
charms  which  grace  a  new  lodgings  before  one 
has  found  out  their  defects.     I  rambled  about  the 
fields  where  I  fancied  Goldsmith  had  rambled. 
I  explored  merry  Islington  ;  ate  my  solitary  din- 
ner at  the  Black  Bull,  which  according  to  tradi- 
tion was  a  country  seat  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh, 
and  would  sit  and  sip  my  wine  and  muse  on  old 
PART  7 


46        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

times*  in  a  quaint  old  room,  where  many  a  coun- 
cil had  been  held. 

All  this  did  very  well  for  a  fewT  days :  I  was 
stimulated  by  novelty ;  inspired  by  the  associa- 
tions awakened  in  my  mind  by  these  curious 
haunts,  and  began  to  think  I  felt  the  spirit  of  com- 
position stirring  within  me;  but  Sunday  came, 
and  with  it  the  whole  city  world,  swarming 
about  Canonbury  Castle.  I  could  not  open  my 
window  but  I  was  stunned  with  shouts  and  noi- 
ses from  the  cricket  ground  The  late  quiet  road 
beneath  my  window  was  alive  with  the  tread  of 
feet  and  clack  of  tongues ;  and  to  complete  my 
misery,  I  found  that  my  quiet  retreat  was  abso- 
lutely a  "  show  house  !'"  the  tower  and  its  con- 
tents being  shown  to  strangers  at  sixpence  a 
head. 

There  was  a  perpetual  tramping  up  stairs  of 
citizens  and  their  families,  to  look  about  the 
country  from  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  to  take  a 
peep  at  the  city  through  the  telescope,  to  try  if 
they  could  discern  their  own  chimneys.  And 
then,  in  the  midst  of  a  vein  of  thought,  or  a  mo- 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.         47 

ment  of  inspiration,  I  was  interrupted,  and  all  my 
ideas  put  to  flight,  by  my  intolerable  landlady's 
tapping  at  the  door,  and  asking  me,  if  I  would 
"jist  please  to  let  a  lady  and  gentleman  come  in 
to  take  a  look  at  Mr.  Goldsmith's  room." 

If  you  know  any  thing  what  an  author's 
study  is,  and  what  an  author  is  himself,  you 
must  know  that  there  was  no  standing  this.  I 
put  a  positive  interdict  on  my  rooms  being  ex- 
hibited; but  then  it  was  shown  when  I  was 
absent,  and  my  papers  put  in  confusion  ;  and  on 
returning  home  one  day,  I  absolutely  found  a 
cursed  tradesman  and  his  daughters  gaping  over 
my  manuscripts ;  and  my  landlady  in  a  panic  at 
my  appearance.  I  tried  to  make  out  a  little 
longer  by  taking  the  key  in  my  pocket,  but  it 
would  not  do.  I  overheard  mine  hostess  one 
day  telling  some  of  her  customers  on  the  stairs 
that  the  room  was  occupied  by  an  author,  who 
was  always  in  a  tantrum  if  interrupted ;  and  I 
immediately  perceived,  by  a  slight  noise  at  the 
door,  that  they  were  peeping  at  me  through  the 
key  hole.  By  the  head  of  Apollo,  but  this  was 


48        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

quite  too  much !  with  all  my  eagerness  for  fame, 
and  my  ambition  of  the  stare  of  the  million,  I 
had  no  idea  of  being  exhibited  by  retail,  at  six- 
pence a  head,  and  that  through  a  key  hole.  So 
I  bade  adieu  to  Canonbury  Castle,  merry  Isling- 
ton, and  the  haunts  of  poor  Goldsmith,  without 
having  advanced  a  single  line  in  my  labours. 

My  next  quarters  were  at  a  small  white-wash- 
ed cottage,  which  stands  not  far  from  Hernpstead, 
just  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  looking  over  Chalk 
farm,  and  Carnbden  town,  remarkable  for  the 
rival  houses  of  Mother  Red  Cap  and  Mother 
Black  Cap ;  and  so  across  Crackskull  common 
to  the  distant  city. 

The  cottage  is  in  no  wise  remarkable  in  itself; 
but  I  regarded  it  with  reverence,  for  it  had  been 
the  asylum  of  a  persecuted  author.  Hither  poor 
Steele  had  retreated  and  lain  perdue  when  perse- 
cuted by  creditors  and  bailiffs  ;  those  immemo- 
rial plagues  of  authors  and  free  spirited  gentle- 
men ;  and  here  he  had  written  many  numbers 
of  the  Spectator.  It  was  from  hence,  too,  that 
he  had  despatched  those  little  notes  to  his  lady, 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR,  49 

so  full  of  affection  and  whimsicality;  in  which 
the  fond  husband,  the  careless  gentleman,  and 
the  shifting  spendthrift,  were  so  oddly  blended. 
I  thought,  as  I  first  eyed  the  window  of  his 
apartment,  that  I  could  sit  within  it  and  write 
volumes. 

No  such  thing !  It  was  haymaking  season, 
and,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  immediately  op- 
posite the  cottage  was  a  little  alehouse  with  the 
sign  of  the  load  of  hay.  Whether  it  was  there 
in  Steele's  time  or  not  I  cannot  say  ;  but  it  set  all 
attempt  at  conception  or  inspiration  at  defiance. 
It  was  the  resort  of  all  the  Irish  haymakers  who 
mow  the  broad  fields  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  and 
of  drovers  and  teamsters  who  travel  that  road. 
Here  would  they  gather  in  the  endless  summer 
twilight,  or  by  the  light  of  the  harvest  moon,  and 
sit  round  a  table  at  the  door ;  and  tipple,  and 
laugh,  and  quarrel,  and  fight,  and  sing  drowsy 
songs,  and  dawdle  away  the  hours  until  the  deep 
solemn  notes  of  St.  Paul's  clock  would  warn  the 
varlets  home. 

In  the  day  time  I  was  still  less  able  to  write. 


50        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

It  was  broad  summer.  The  haymakers  were  at 
work  in  the  fields,  and  the  perfume  of  the  new- 
mown  hay  brought  with  it  the  recollection  of  rny 
native  fields.  So  instead  of  remaining:  in  my 
room  to  write,  I  went  wandering  about  Primrose 
Hill  and  Hempstead  Heights  and  Shepherd's 
Field,  and  all  those  Arcadian  scenes  so  celebra- 
ted by  London  bards.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
many  delicious  hours  I  have  passed  lying  on  the 
cocks  of  new-mown  hay,  on  the  pleasant  slopes 
of  some  of  those  hills,  inhaling  the  fragrance  of 
the  fields,  while  the  summer  fly  buzzed  about 
me,  or  the  grasshopper  leaped  into  my  bosom  ; 
and  how  I  have  gazed  with  half-shut  eye  upon 
the  smoky  mass  of  London,  and  listened  to  the 
distant  sound  of  its  population,  and  pitied  the 
poor  sons  of  earth,  toiling  in  its  bowels,  like 
Gnomes  in  "  the  dark  gold  mine." 

People  may  say  what  they  please  about  Cock- 
ney pastorals ;  but  after  all,  there  is  a  vast  deal 
of  rural  beauty  about  the  western  vicinity  of 
London ;  and  any  one  that  has  looked  down 
upon  the  valley  of  Westend,  with  its  soft  bosom 


'THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.  51 

of  green  pasturage,  lying  open  to  the  south,  and 
dotted  with  cattle ;  the  steeple  of  Hempstead 
rising  among  rich  groves  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
and  the  learned  height  of  Harrow  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  will  confess  that  never  has  he  seen  a 
more  absolutely  rural  landscape  in  the  vicinity 
of  a  great  metropolis. 

Still,  however,  I  found  myself  not  a  whit  the 
better  off  for  my  frequent  change  of  lodgings ; 
and  I  began  to  discover  that  in  literature,  as  in 
trade,  the  old  proverb  holds  good,  u  a  rolling 
stone  gathers  no  moss." 

The  tranquil  beauty  of  the  country  played 
the  very  vengeance  with  me.  I  could  not 
mount  my  fancy  into  the  termagant  vein.  I 
could  not  conceive,  amidst  the  smiling  landscape, 
a  scene  of  blood  and  murder ;  and  the  smug  citi- 
zens in  breeches  and  gaiters,  put  all  ideas  of 
heroes  and  bandits  out  of  my  brain.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  dulcet  subjects.  "The 
pleasures  of  spring" — "the  pleasures  of  soli- 
tude"— "  the  pleasures  of  tranquillity" — "  the 
pleasures  of  sentiment" — nothing  but  pleasures  j 


52        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

and  I  had  the  painful  experience  of  "  the  pleasures 
of  melancholy"  too  strongly  in  my  recollection 
to  he  beguiled  by  them. 

Chance  at  length  befriended  me.  I  had  fre- 
quently in  my  ramblings  loitered  about  Hemp- 
stead  Hill;  which  is  a  kind  of  Parnassus  of  the 
metropolis.  At  such  times  I  occasionally  took 
my  dinner  at  Jack  Straw's  Castle.  It  is  a  country 
inn  so  named.  The  very  spot  where  that  noto- 
rious rebel  and  his  followers  held  their  council 
of  war.  It  is  a  favourite  resort  of  citizens  when 
rurally  inclined,  as  it  commands  fine  fresh  air 
and  a  good  view  of  the  city. 

I  sat  one  day  in  the  public  room  of  this  inn, 
ruminating  over  a  beefsteak  and  a  pint  of  port, 
when  my  imagination  kindled  up  with  an- 
cient and  heroic  images.  I  had  long  wanted  a 
theme  and  a  hero ;  both  suddenly  broke  upon  my 
mind;  I  determined  to  write  a  poem  on  the  his- 
tory of  Jack  Straw.  I  was  so  full  of  my  sub- 
ject that  I  was  fearful  of  being  anticipated.  I 
wondered  that  none  of  the  poets  of  the  day,  in 
their  researches  after  ruffian  heroes,  had  ever 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.         53 

thought  of  Jack  Straw.  I  went  to  work  pell- 
mell,  blotted  several  sheets  of  paper  with  choice 
floating  thoughts,  and  battles,  and  descriptions, 
to  be  ready  at  a  moment's  warning.  In  a  few 
days  time  I  sketched  out  the  skeleton  of  my 
poem,  and  nothing  was  wanting  but  to  give  it 
flesh  and  blood.  I  used  to  take  my  manuscript 
and  stroll  about  Caen  Wood,  and  read  aloud  ;  and 
would  dine  at  the  castle,  by  way  of  keeping  up 
the  vein  of  thought. 

I  was  taking  a  meal  there,  one  day,  at  a  rather 
late  hour,  in  the  public  room.  There  was  no 
other  company  but  one  man,  who  sat  enjoying 
his  pint  of  port  at  a  window,  and  noticing  the 
passers  by.  He  was  dressed  in  a  green  shooting 
coat.  His  countenance  was  strongly  marked. 
He  had  a  hooked  nose,  a  romantic  eye,  excepting 
that  it  had  something  of  a  squint ;  and  altoge- 
ther, as  I  thought,  a  poetical  style  of  head.  I  was 
quite  taken  with  the  man,  for  you  must  know  I 
am  a  little  of  a  physiognomist :  I  set  him  down 
at  once  for  either  a  poet  or  a  philosopher. 

PART  IT.  8 


54        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

As  I  like  to  make  new  acquaintances,  consi- 
dering every  man  a  volume  of  human  nature,  I 
soon  fell  into  conversation  with  the  stranger, 
who,  I  was  pleased  to  find,  was  by  no  means 
difficult  of  access.  After  I  had  dined,  I  joined 
him  at  the  window,  and  we  became  so  sociable 
that  I  proposed  a  bottle  of  wine  together ;  to 
which  he  most  cheerfully  assented. 

I  was  too  full  of  my  poem  to  keep  long  quiet 
on  the  subject,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  ori- 
gin of  the  tavern,  and  the  history  of  Jack  Straw. 
I  found  my  new  acquaintance  to  be  perfectly  at 
home  on  the  topic,  and  to  jump  exactly  with 
my  humour  in  every  respect.  I  became  elevated 
by  the  wine  and  the  conversation.  In  the  full- 
ness of  an  author's  feelings,  I  told  him  of  my 
projected  poem,  and  repeated  some  passages  • 
and  he  was  in  raptures.  He  was  evidently  of  a 
strong  poetical  turn. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  filling  my  glass  at  the  same 
time,  ."  our  poets  don't  look  at  home.  I  don't 
see  why  we  need  go  out  of  old  England  for 
robbers  and  rebels  to  write  about.  I  like  your 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.        55 

Jack  Straw,  sir.  He's  a  home  made  hero.  I 
like  him,  sir.  I  like  him  exceedingly.  He's 
English  to  the  back  bone,  damme.  Give  me 
honest  old  England,  after  all ;  them's  my  senti- 
ments, sir !" 

"  I  honour  your  sentiments,"  cried  I  zea- 
lously. "  They  are  exactly  my  own.  An  En- 
glish ruffian  is  as  good  a  ruffian  for  poetry  as 
any  in  Italy  or  Germany,  or  the  Archipelago ; 
but  it  is  hard  to  make  our  poets  think  so." 

"  More  shame  for  them  !"  replied  the  man  in 
green.  "  What  a  plague  would  they  have  ? 
What  have  we  to  do  with  their  Archipelago's  of 
Italy  and  Germany  ?  Haven't  we  heaths  and 
commons  and  high-ways  on  our  own  little  island  ? 
Aye,  and  stout  fellows  to  pad  the  hoof  over  them 
too  ?  Come  sir,  my  service  to  you — I  agree 
with  you  perfectly." 

"  Poets  in  old  times  had  right  notions  on  this 
subject,"  continued  I;  "witness  the  fine  old  bal- 
lads about  Robin  Hood,  Allen  A'Dale,  and 
other  staunch  blades  of  yore." 

"  Right,  sir,  right,"  interrupted  he.     "  Robin 


56        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

Hood  !  He  was  the  lad  to  cry  stand !  to  a  man, 
and  never  flinch." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  I,  "  they  had  famous  bands'of 
robbers  in  the  good  old  times.  Those  were  glo- 
rious poetical  days.  The  merry  crew  of  Sher- 
wood Forest,  who  led  such  a  roving  picturesque 
life,  "  under  the  greenwood  tree."  I  have  often 
wished  to  visit  their  haunts,  and  tread  the  scenes 
of  the  exploits  of  Friar  Tuck,  and  Clym  of  the 
Clough,  and  Sir  William  of  Cloudeslie." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  green,  "  we 
frave  had  several  very  pretty  gangs  since  their  day. 
Those  gallant  dogs  that  kept  about  the  great 
heaths  in  the  neighbourhood  of  London ;  about 
Bagshot,  and  Hounslow,  and  Black  Heath,  for 
instance — come  sir,  my  service  to  you.  You 
don't  drink." 

"  1  suppose,"  said  I,  emptying  my  glass — "  I 
suppose  you  have  heard  of  the  famous  Turpin, 
who  was  born  in  this  very  village  of  Hempstead, 
and  who  used  to  lurk  with  his  gang  in  Epping 
Forest,  about  a  hundred  years  since." 

"  Have  I  ?"  cried  he — "  to  be  sure  I  have  !  A 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.  57 

hearty  old  blade  that ;  sound  as  pitch.  Old  Tur- 
pentine ! — as  we  used  to  call  him.  A  famous 
fine  fellow,  sir." 

"  Well  sir,"  continued  I,  "  I  have  visited  Wal- 
tham  Abbey,  and  Chinkford  Church,  merely 
from  the  stories  I  heard,  when  a  boy,  of  his  ex- 
ploits there,  and  I  have  searched  Epping  Forest 
for  the  cavern  where  he  used  to  conceal  himself. 
You  must  know,"  added  I,  "  that  I  am  a  sort  of 
amateur  of  highwaymen.  They  were  dashing, 
daring  fellows  ;  the  last  apologies  that  we  had  for 
the  knights  errants  of  yore.  Ah,  sir  !  the  country 
has  been  sinking  gradually  into  tameness  and 
common  place.  We  are  losing  the  old  English 
spirit.  The  bold  knights  of  the  post  have  all 
dwindled  down  into  lurking  footpads  and  sneak- 
ing pick-pockets.  There's  no  such  thing  as  a  dash- 
ing gentleman-like  robbery  committed  now-a- 
days  on  the  king's  highway.  A  man  may  roll 
from  one  end  of  England  to  the  other  in  a  drowsy 
coach  or  jingling  post-chaise  without  any  other 
adventure  than  that  of  being  occasionally  over- 
turned, sleeping  in  damp  sheets,  or  having  an  ill 
cooked  dinner. 


58         THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

"  We  hear  no  more  of  public  coaches  being  stop- 
ped and  robbed  by  a  well -mounted  gang  of  reso- 
lute fellows  with  pistols  in  their  hands  and  crapes 
over  their  faces.  What  a  pretty  poetical  inci- 
dent was  it  for  example  in  domestic  life,  for  a 
family  carriage,  on  its  way  to  a  country  seat,  to 
be  attacked  about  dusk  ;  the  old  gentleman  eased 
of  his  purse  and  watch,  the  ladies  of  their  neck- 
laces and  ear-rings,  by  a  politely  spoken  high- 
wayman on  a  blood  mare,  who  afterwards  leap- 
ed the  hedge  and  gallopped  across  the  country, 
to  the  admiration  of  Miss  Carolina  the  daughter, 
who  would  write  a  long  and  romantic  account 
of  the  adventure  to  her  friend  Miss  Juliana  in 
town.  Ah,  sir  !  we  meet  with  nothing  of  such 
incidents  now-a-days  !" 

"  That,  sir," — said  my  companion,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  a  pause,  when  I  stopped  to  recover 
breath  and  to  take  a  glass  of  wine,  which  he 
had  just  poured  out — "  that  sir,  craving  your 
pardon,  is  not  owing  to  any  want  of  old  English 
pluck.  It  is  the  effect  of  this  cursed  system  of 
banking.  People  do  not  travel  with  bags  of 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.  59 

gold  as  they  did  formerly.  They  have  post 
notes  and  drafts  on  bankers.  To  rob  a  coach  is 
like  catching  a  crow  ;  where  you  hare  nothing 
but  carrion  flesh  and  feathers  for  your  pains. 
But  a  coach  in  old  times,  sir,  was  as  rich  as  a 
Spanish  galleon.  It  turned  out  the  yellow  boys 
bravely  ;  and  a  private  carriage  was  a  cool  hun- 
dred or  two  at  least." 

I  cannot  express  how  much  I  was  delighted 
with  the  sallies  of  my  new  acquaintance.  He 
told  me  that  he  often  frequented  the  castle,  and 
would  be  glad  to  know  more  of  me  ;  and  I  pro- 
mised myself  many  a  pleasant  afternoon  with 
him,  when  I  should  read  him  my  poem,  as  it 
proceeded,  and  benefit  by  his  remarks  ;  for  it 
was  evident  he  had  the  true  poetical  feeling. 

"  Come,  sir !"  said  he,  pushing  the  bottle, 
"  Damme  I  like  you  ! — You're  a  man  after  my 
own  heart ;  I'm  cursed  slow  in  making  new  ac- 
quaintances in  general.  One  must  stand  on  the 
reserve,  you  know.  But  when  I  meet  with  a 
man  of  your  kidney,  damme  my  heart  jumps 
at  once  to  him.  Them's  my  sentiments,  sir. 


60  THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

Come,  Sir,  here's  Jack  Straw's  health  !  I  pre- 
sume one  can  drink  it  now-a-days  without  trea- 
son !" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  I  gayly,  "  and 
Dick  Turpin's  into  the  bargain  !" 

"  Ah,  sir  !"  said  the  man  in  green,  those  are 
the  kind  of  men  for  poetry.  The  Newgate  ka- 
lendar,  sir  !  the  Newgate  kalendar  is  your  only 
reading  !  There's  the  place  to  look  for  bold 
deeds  and  dashing  fellows. 

We  were  so  much  pleased  with  each  other 
that  we  sat  until  a  late  hour.  I  insisted  on  pay- 
ing the  bill,  for  both  my  purse  and  my  heart 
were  full ;  and  I  agreed  that  he  should  pay  the 
score  at  our  next  meeting.  As  the  coaches  had 
all  gone  that  run  between  Hempstead  and  Lon- 
don he  had  to  return  on  foot.  He  was  so  de- 
lighted with  the  idea  of  my  poem  that  he  could 
talk  of  nothing  else.  He  made  me  repeat  such 
passages  as  I  could  remember,  and  though  I  did 
it  in  a  very  mangled  manner,  having  a  wretched 
memory,  yet  he  was  in  raptures. 

Every  now  and  then  he  would  break  out  with 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.        61 

some  scrap  which  he  would  misquote  most  ter- 
ribly, but  would  rub  his  hands  and  exclaim, 
"  By  Jupiter  that's  fine  !  that's  noble  !  Damme, 
sir,  if  I  can  conceive  how  you  hit  upon  such 
ideas !" 

I  must  confess  I  did  not  always  relish  his  mis- 
quotations, which  sometimes  made  absolute  non- 
sense of  the  passages ;  but  what  author  stands 
upon  trifles  when  he  is  praised  ?  Never  had  I 
spent  a  more  delightful  evening.  I  did  not  per- 
ceive how  the  time  flew.  I  could  not  bear  to 
separate,  but  continued  walking  on,  arm  in  arm 
with  him  past  my  lodgings,  through  Cambden 
town,  and  across  Crackscull  Common,  talking 
the  whole  way  about  my  poem. 

When  we  were  half  way  across  the  common 
he  interrupted  me  in  the  midst  of  a  quotation  by 
telling  me  that  this  had  been  a  famous  place  for 
footpads,  and  was  still  occasionally  infested  by 
them  ;  and  that  a  man  had  recently  been  shot 
there  in  attempting  to  defend  himself. 

"  The  more  fool  he  !"  cried  I.  "  A  man  is  an 
idiot  to  risk  life,  or  even  limb,  to  save  a  paltry 

PART  II.  9 


62  THE  POOR  DETAIL  AUTHOR. 

purse  of  money.  It's  quite  a  different  case  from 
that  of  a  duel,  where  one's  honour  is  concerned. 
"  For  my  part,"  added  I,  "  I  should  never  think 
of  making  resistance  against  one  of  those  des- 
peradoes." 

"  Say  you  so  ?"  cried  my  friend  in  green, 
turning  suddenly  upon  me,  and  putting  a  pistol 
to  my  breast,  "  Why,  then  have  at  you  my  lad ! 
— come,  disburse  !  empty  !  unsack  !" 

In  a  word,  I  found  that  the  muse  had  played 
me  another  of  her  tricks,  and  had  betrayed  me 
into  the  hands  of  a  footpad.  There  was  no 
time  to  parley  ;  he  made  me  turn  my  pockets 
inside  out ;  and  hearing  the  sound  of  distant  foot- 
steps, he  made  one  fell  swoop  upon  purse,  watch 
and  all,  gave  me  a  thwack  over  my  unlucky 
pate  that  laid  me  sprawling  on  the  ground  ;  and 
scampered  away  with  his  booty. 

I  saw  no  more  of  my  friend  in  green  until  a 
year  or  two  afterwards  ;  when  I  caught  a  sight 
of  his  poetical  countenance  among  a  crew  of 
scapegraces,  heavily  ironed,  who  were  on  the 
way  for  transportation.  He  recognized  me  at 


fHE    POOR    DEVIL    AUTHOR.  63 

once,  tipped  me  an  impudent  wink,  and  asked 
me  how  1  came  on  with  the  history  of  Jack 
Straw's  castle. 

Tiie  catastrophe  at  Crackscull  Com.non  put 
an  end  to  my  summer's  campaign.  I  was  cured 
of  my  poetical  enthusiasm  for  rebels,  robbers  and 
highwaymen.  I  was  put  out  of  conceit  of  my 
subject,  and  what  was  worse,  I  was  lightened  of 
my  purse,  in  which  was  almost  every  farthing  I 
had  in  the  World.  So  I  abandoned  Sir  Richard 
Steele's  cottage  in  despair,  and  crept  into  less 
celebrated,  though  no  less  poetical  and  airy  lodg- 
ings in  a  garret  in  town. 

I  see  you  are  growing  weary,  so  I  will  not  de- 
tain you  with  any  more  of  my  luckless  attempts 
to  get  astride  of  Pegasus.  Still  I  could  not  con- 
sent to  give  up  the  trial  and  abandon  those  dreams 
of  renown  in  which  I  had  indulged.  How  should 
I  ever  be  able  to  look  the  literary  circle  of  my 
native  village  in  the  face,  if  I  were  so  completely 
to  f  dsify  their  predictions.  For  some  time  longer, 
therefore,  I  continued  to  write  for  fame,  and  of 


. 

64        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

course  was  the  most  miserable  dog  in  existence, 
besides  being  in  continual  risk  of  starvation. 

I  have  manj  a  time  strolled  sorrowfully  along, 
with  a  sad  heart  and  an  empty  stomach,  about 
five  o'clock,  and  looked  wistfully  down  the  areas 
in  the  west  end  of  the  town  ;  and  seen  through 
the  kitchen  windows  the  fires  gleaming,  and  the 
joints  of  meat  turning  on-  the  spits  and  dripping 
with  gravy  ;  and  the  cook  maids  hearing  up  pud- 
dings, or  trussing  turkeys,  and  have  felt  for  the 
moment  that  if  1  could  but  have  the  run  of  one 
of  those  kitchens,  Apollo  and  the  muses  might 
have  the  hungry  heights  of  Parnassus  for  me. 
Oh  sir!  talk  of  meditations  among  the  tombs — 
they  are  nothing  so  melancholy  as  the  meditations 
of  a  poor  devil  without  penny  in  pouch,  along  a 
line  of  kitchen  windows  towards  dinner  time. 

At  length,  when  almost  reduced  to  famine  and 
despair,  the  idea  all  at  once  entered  my  head,  that 
perhaps  I  was  not  so  clever  a  fellow  as  the  vil- 
lage and  myself  had  supposed,  It  was  the  sal- 
vation of  me.  The  moment  the  idea  popped  into 
my  brain,  it  brought  conviction  and  comfort  with 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.        66 

it.  I  awoke  as  from  a  dream.  I  gave  up  im- 
mortal fame  to  those  who  could  live  on  air ;  took 
to  writing  for  mere  bread,  and  have  ever  since 
led  a  very  tolerable  life  of  it.  There  is  no  man 
of  letters  so  much  at  his  ease,  sir,  as  he  that  has 
no  character  to  gain  or  lose.  I  had  to  train  my- 
self to  it  a  little  however,  and  to  clip  my  wings 
short  at  first,  or  they  would  have  carried  me  up 
into  poetry  in  spite  of  myself.  So  I  determined 
to  begin  by  the  opposite  extreme,  and  abandon- 
ing the  higher  regions  of  the  craft  I  came  plump 
down  to  the  lowest,  and  turned  creeper. 

"  Creeper,"  interrupted  I,  u  and  pray  what  is 
that  ?"  Oh  sir !  I  see  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
language  of  the  craft ;  a  creeper  is  one  who  fur- 
nishes the  newspapers  with  paragraphs  at  so  much 
a  line ;  one  that  goes  about  inquest  of  misfortunes; 
attends  the  Bow-street  office ;  the  courts  of  justice 
and  every  other  den  of  mischief  and  iniquity.  We 
are  paid  at  the  rate  of  a  penny  a  line,  and  as  we  can 
sell  the  same  paragraph  to  almost  every  paper, 
we  sometimes  pick  up  a  very  decent  day's  work. 
Now  and  then  the  muse  is  unkind,  or  the  day 


66  THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

uncommonly  quiet,  and  then  we  rather  starve ; 
and  sometimes  the  unconscionable  editors  will 
clip  our  paragraphs  when  they  are  a  little  too 
rhetorical,  and  snip  off  twopence  or  threepence 
at  a  go.  I  have  many  a  time  had  my  pot  of 
porter  snipped  off  of  my  dinner  in  this  way;  and 
have  had  to  dine  with  dry  lips.  However,  I 
cannot  complain.  I  rose  gradually  in  the  lower 
ranks  of  the  craft,  and  am  now  I  think  in  the 
most  comfortable  region  of  literature. 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  what  may  you  be  at 
present  ?" 

"  At  present,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  regular  job 
writer,  and  turn  my  hand  to  any  thing.  I  work 
up  the  writings  of  others  at  so  much  a  sheet ;  turn 
off  translations;  write  second  rate  articles  to  fill 
up  reviews  and  magazines  ;  compile  travels  and 
voyages,  and  furnish  theatrical  criticisms  for  the 
newspapers.  All  this  authorship,  you  perceive, 
is  anonymous;  it  gives  no  reputation,  except 
among  the  trade,  where  I  am  considered  an  au- 
thor of  all  work,  and  am  always  sure  of  employ. 
That's  the  only  reputation  I  want.  I  sleep 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR.        67 

soundly,  without  dread  of  duns  or  critics,  and 
leave  immortal  fame  to  those  that  choose  to 
fret  and  fight  about  it.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
the  only  happy  author  in  this  world  is  he  who 
is  below  the  care  of  reputation. 


The  preceding  anecdotes  of  Buckthorne's  early 
schoolmate,  and  a  variety  of  peculiarities  which 
I  had  remarked  in  himself,  gave  me  a  strong 
curiosity  to  know  something  of  his  own  history. 
There  was  a  dash  of  careless  good  humour 
about  him  that  pleased  me  exceedingly,  and  at 
times  a  whimsical  tinge  of  melancholy  ran 
through  his  humour  that  gave  it  an  additional 
relish.  He  had  evidently  been  a  little  chilled 
and  buffeted  by  fortune,  without  being  soured 
thereby,  as  some  fruits  become  mellower  and 
sweeter,  from  having  been  bruised  or  frost  bitten. 
He  smiled  when  I  expressed  my  desire.  "  I  have 
no  great  story,"  said  he,  "  to  relate.  A  mere 


68        THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTHOR. 

tissue  of  errors  and  follies.  But,  such  as  it  is, 
you  shall  have  one  epoch  of  it,  by  which  you 
may  judge  of  the  rest.  And  so,  without  any 
farther  prelude,  he  gave  me  the  following  anec- 
dotes of  his  early  adventures. 


BUCKTHORNE, 

OR  THE 

YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 

I  WAS  born  to  very  little  property,  but  to  great, 
expectations ;  which  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most 
unlucky  fortunes  that  a  man  can  be  born  to.  My 
father  was  a  country  gentleman,  the  last  of  a 
very  ancient  and  honourable  but  decayed  family, 
and  resided  in   an  old  hunting  lodge  in  War- 
wickshire.    He  was  a  keen  sportsman  and  lived 
to  the  extent  of  his  moderate  income,  so  that  I 
had  little  to  expect  from  that  quarter  ;  but  then 
I  had  a  rich  uncle  by  the  mother's  side,  a  penu- 
rious accumulating  curmudgeon,  who  it  was  con- 
fidently expected  would  make  me  his  heir  ;  be- 
cause he  was  an  old  bachelor  ;  because  I  was 
named  after  him,  and   because  he  hated  all  the 
world  except  myself. 
PART  II.  JO 


70  BUCKTHORNS,  OR  THE 

He  was,  in  fact,  an  inveterate  hater,  a  miser 
even  in  misanthropy,  and  hoarded  up  a  grudge 
as  he  did  a  guinea.  Thus,  though  my  mother 
was  an  only  sister,  he  had  never  forgiven  her 
marriage  with  my  father,  against  whom  he  had 
a  cold,  still,  immoveable  pique,  which  had  lain 
at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  like  a  stone  in  a  well, 
ever  since  they  had  been  school  boys  together. 
My  mother,  however,  considered  me  as  the  in- 
termediate being  that  was  to  bring  every  thing 
again  into  harmony,  for  she  looked  upon  me  as 
a  prodigy — God  bless  her  !  My  heart  overflows 
whenever  I  recall  her  tenderness  :  she  was  the 
most  excellent,  the  most  indulgent  of  mothers. 
1  was  her  only  child,  it  was  a  pity  she  had  no 
more,  for  she  had  fondness  of  heart  enough  to 
have  spoiled  a  dozen  ! 

I  was  sent,  at  an  early  age  to  a  public  school 
sorely  against  my  mother's  wishes,  but  my 
father  insisted  that  it  was  the  only  way  to  make 
boys  hardy.  The  school  was  kept  by  a  con- 
scientious prig  of  the  ancient  system,  who  did 
his  duty  by  the  boys  intrusted  to  his  care ;  that  is 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.    71 

to  say,  we  were  flogged  soundly  when  we  did  not 
get  our  lessons.  We  were  put  into  classes  and  thus 
flogged  on  in  droves  along  the  highways  of 
knowledge,  in  much  the  same  manner  as  cattle 
are  driven  to  market,  where  those  that  are  heavy 
in  gait  or  short  in  leg  have  to  suffer  for  the  su- 
perior alertness  or  longer  limbs  of  their  com- 
panions. 

For  my  part,  I  confess  it  with  shame,  I  was 
an  incorrigible  laggard.  I  have  always  had  the 
poetical  feeling,  that  is  to  say,  I  have  always 
been  an  idle  fellow  and  prone  to  play  the  va- 
gabond. I  used  to  get  away  from  my  books 
and  school  whenever  I  could,  and  ramble  about 
the  fields.  I  was  surrounded  by  seductions  for 
such  a  temperament.  The  school  house  was 
an  old  fashioned  white-washed  mansion  of  wood 
and  plaister,  standing  on  the  skirts  of  a  beau- 
tiful village.  Close  by  it  was  the  venerable 
church  with  a  tall  Gothic  spire.  Before  it 
spread  a  lovely  green  valley,  with  a  little  stream 
glistening  along  through  willow  groves ;  while 
a  line  of  blue  hills  that  bounded  the  landscape 


7^  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

gave  rise  to  many  a  summer  day  dream  as  to  the 
fairy  land  that  lay  beyond. 

In  spite  of  all  the  scourgings  I  suffered  at  that 
school  to  make  me  love  my  book,  I  cannot  but 
look  back  upon  the  place  with  fondness.  Indeed, 
I  considered  this  frequent  flaggellation  as  the 
common  lot  of  humanity,  and  the  regular  mode 
in  which  scholars  were  made.  My  kind  mo- 
ther used  to  lament  over  my  details  of  the  sore 
trials  I  underwent  in  the  cause  of  learning ;  but 

o  " 

my  father  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  expostulations. 
He  had  been  flogged  through  school  himself,  and 
swore  there  was  no  other  way  of  making  a  man 
of  parts  ;  though,  let  me  speak  it  with  all  due  re- 
verence, my  father  was  but  an  indifferent  illus- 
tration of  his  own  theory,  for  he  was  considered 
a  grievous  blockhead. 

My  poetical  temperament  evinced  itself  at  a  very 
early  period.  The  village  church  was  attended 
every  Sunday  by  a  neighbouring  squire — the 
lord  of  the  manor,  whose  park  stretched  quite 
to  the  village,  and  whose  spacious  country  seat 
seemed  to  take  the  church  under  its  protection* 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   IS 

Indeed,  you  would  have  thought  the  church  had 
been  consecrated  to  him  instead  of  to  the  Deity. 
The  parish  clerk  bowed  low  before  him,  and  the 
vergers  humbled  themselves  into  the  dust  in  his 
presence.  He  always  entered  a  little  late  and 
with  some  stir,  striking  his  cane  emphatically 
on  the  ground  ;  swaying  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  looking  loftily  to  the  right  and  left,  as  he 
walked  slowly  up  the  aisle,  and  the  parson,  who 
always  ate  his  Sunday  dinner  with  him,  never 
commenced  service  until  he  appeared.  He  sat 
with  his  family  in  a  large  pew  gorgeously  lined, 
humbling  himself  devoutly  on  velvet  cushions,  and 
reading  lessons  of  meekness  and  lowliness  of 
spirit  out  of  splended  gold  and  morocco  prayer 
books.  Whenever  the  parson  spoke  of  the  dif- 
ficulty of  a  rich  man's  entering  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  the  eyes  of  the  congregation  would  turn 
towards  the  "  grand  pew,"  and  I  thought  the 
squire  seemed  pleased  with  the  application. 

The  pomp  of  this  pew  and  the  aristocratical 
air  of  the  family  struck  my  imagination  wonder- 
fully, and  I  fell  desperately  in  love  with  a  little 


74  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

daughter  of  the  squire's  about  twelve  years  of 
age  This  freak  of  fancy  made  me  more  truant 
from  my  studies  than  ever.  I  used  to  stroll 
about  the  squire's  park,  and  would  lurk  near  the 
house,  to  catch  glimpses  of  this  little  damsel  at 
the  windows,  or  playing  about  the  lawns,  or 
walking  out  with  her  governess. 

I  had  not  enterprize,  or  impudence  enough  to 
venture  from  my  concealment ;  indeed,  I  felt  like 
an  arrant  poacher,  until  I  read  one  or  two  of 
Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  when  I  pictured  myself 
as  some  sylvan  deity,  and  she  a  coy  wood 
nymph  of  whom  I  was  in  pursuit.  There  is 
something  extremely  delicious  in  these  early 
awakenings  of  the  tender  passion.  I  can  feel 
even  at  this  moment,  the  thrilling  of  my  boy- 
ish bosom,  whenever  by  chance  I  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  white  frock  fluttering  among  the 
shrubbery.  I  now  began  to  read  poetry.  I  car- 
ried about  in  my  bosom  a  volume  of  Waller, 
which  I  had  purloined  from  my  mother's  library  ; 
and  I  applied  to  my  little  fair  one  all  the  com- 
pliments lavished  upon  Sacharissa. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  *  75 

At  length  I  danced  with  her  at  a  school  ball. 
I  was  so  awkward  a  booby,  that  I  dared  scarcely 
speak  to  her ;  I  was  filled  with  awe  and  embar- 
rassment in  her  presence ;  but  1  was  so  inspired 
that  my  poetical  temperament  for  the  first  time 
broke  out  in  verse  ;  and  I  fabricated  some  glow- 
ing lines,  in  which  I  berhymed  the  little  lady 
under  the  favourite  name  of  Sacharissa.  I  slip- 
ped the  verses,  trembling  and  blushing,  into  her 
hand  the  next  Sunday  as  she  came  out  of  church. 
The  little  prude  handed  them  to  her  mamma ; 
the  mamma  handed  them  to  the  squire;  the 
squire,  who  had  no  soul  for  poetry,  sent  them  in 
dudgeon  to  the  school  master;  and  the  school 
master,  with  a  barbarity  worthy  of  the  dark  ages, 
gave  me  a  sound  and  peculiarly  humiliating  flog- 
ging for  thus  trespassing  upon  Parnassus. 

This  was  a  sad  outset  for  a  votary  of  the  muse. 
It  ought  to  have  cured  me  of  my  passion  for 
poetry;  but  it  only  confirmed  it,  for  I  felt  the 
spirit  of  a  martyr  rising  within  me.  What  was 
as  well,  perhaps,  it  cured  me  of  my  passion  for 
the  young  lady ;  for  I  felt  so  indignant  at  the  ig- 


76  BUCKTHORtfE,  Oil  TH^E 

nominious  horsing  I  had  incurred  in  celebrating 
her  charms,  that  I  could  not  hold  up  my  head  in 
church. 

Fortunately  for  my  wounded  sensibility,  the 
midsummer  holydays  came  on,  and  I  returned 
home.  My  mother,  as  usual,  inquired  into  all 
my  school  concerns,  my  little  pleasures,  and  cares, 
and  sorrows ;  for  boyhood  has  its  share  of  the 
one  as  well  as  of  the  others.  I  told  her  all,  and 
she  was  indignant  at  the  treatment  I  had  ex- 
perienced. She  fired  up  at  the  arrogance  of  the 
squire,  and  the  prudery  of  the  daughter ;  and  as  to 
the  school  master,  she  wondered  where  was  the 
use  of  having  school  masters,  and  why  boys  could 
not  remain  at  home  and  be  educated  by  tutors, 
under  the  eye  of  their,  mothers.  She  asked  to 
see  the  verses  I  had  written,  and  she  wras  de- 
lighted with  them  ;  for  to  confess  the  truth,  she 
had  a  pretty  taste  in  poetry.  She  even  showed 
them  to  the  parson's  wife,  who  protested  they 
were  charming,  and  the  parson's  three  daughters 
insisted  on  each  having  a  copy  of  them. 

All  this  was  exceedingly  balsamic,  and  I  was 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   77 

still  more  consoled  and  encouraged,  when  the 
young  ladies,  who  were  the  blue  stockings  of  the 
neighbourhood,  and  had  read  Dr.  Johnson's  lives 
quite  through,  assured  my  mother  that  great  ge- 
nuises  never  studied,  but  were  always  idle ;  upon 
which  I  began  to  surmise  that  1  was  myself 
something  out  of  the  common  run.  My  father, 
however,  was  of  a  very  different  opinion,  for 
when  my  mother,  in  the  pride  of  her  heart,  show- 
ed him  my  copy  of  verses,  he  threw  them  out  of 
the  window,  asking  her  "  if  she  meant  to  make  a 
ballad  monger  of  the  boy."  But  he  was  a  care- 
less, common  thinking  man,  and  I  cannot  say  that 
I  ever  loved  him  much ;  my  mother  absorbed  all 
my  filial  affection. 

I  used  occasionally,  during  holydays,  to  be 
sent  on  short  visits  to  the  uncle,  who  was  to  make 
me  his  heir ;  they  thought  it  would  keep  me  in 
his  mind,  and  render  him  fond  of  me.  He  was 
a  withered,  anxious  looking  old  fellow,  and 
lived  in  a  desolate  old  country  seat,  which  he 
suffered  to  go  to  ruin  from  absolute  niggardli- 
ness. He  kept  but  one  man  servant,  who  had 

PART  II.  11 


78  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

lived,  or  rather  starved  with  him  for  years.  No 
woman  was  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  house.  A 
daughter  of  the  old  servant  lived  by  the  gate,  in 
what  had  been  a  porter's  lodge,  and  was  permit- 
ted to  come  into  the  house  about  an  hour  each 
day,  to  make  the  beds,  and  cook  a  morsel  of  pro- 
visions. 

The  park  that  surrounded  the  house  was  all 
run  wild  ;  the  trees  grown  out  of  shape  ;  the  fish 
ponds  stagnant ;  the  urns  and  statues  fallen  from 
their  pedestals  and  buried  among  the  rank  grass. 
The  hares  and  pheasants  were  so  little  molested, 
except  by  poachers,  that  they  bred  in  great  abun- 
dance, and  sported  about  the  rough  lawns  and 
weedy  avenues.  To  guard  the  premises  and 
frighten  off  robbers,  of  whom  he  wras  somewhat 
apprehensive,  and  visiters,  whom  he  held  in  al- 
most equal  awe,  my  uncle  kept  tv\o  or  three 
blood  hounds,  who  were  always  prowling  round 
the  house,  and  were  the  dread  of  the  neighbour- 
ing peasantry.  They  were  gaunt  and  half-starv- 
ed, seemed  ready  to  devour  one  from  mere  hun- 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   79 

ger,  and  were  an  effectual  check  on  any  stran- 
ger's approach  to  this  wizard  castle. 

Such  was  my  uncle's  house,  which  I  used  to 
visit  now  and  then  during  the  holydays.  I  was, 
as  I  have  before  said,  the  old  man's  favourite ;  that 
•is  to  say,  he  did  not  hate  me  so  much  as  he  did 
the  rest  of  the  world.  I  had  been  apprised  of  his 
character,  and  cautioned  to  cultivate  his  good 
will ;  but  I  was  too  young  and  careless  to  be  a 
courtier  ;  and  indeed  have  never  been  sufficiently 
studious  of  my  interests  to  let  them  govern  my 
feelings.  However,  we  seemed  to  jog  on  very 
well  together ;  and  as  my  visits  cost  him  almost 
nothing,  they  did  not  seem  to  be  very  unwelcome. 
I  brought  with  me  my  gun  and  fishing  rod,  and 
half  supplied  the  table  from  the  park  and  the  fish 
ponds. 

Our  meals  were  solitary  and  unsocial.  My  un- 
cle rarely  spoke  ;  he  pointed  for  whatever  he 
wanted,  and  the  servant  perfectly  understood 
him.  Indeed,  his  man  John,  or  Iron  John,  as  he 
was  called  in  the  neighbourhood,  was  a  counter- 
part of  his  master.  He  was  a  tall  bony  old  fel- 


80  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

low,  with  a  dry  wig  that  seemed  made  of  cow-s 
tail,  and  a  face  as  tough  as  though  it  had  been 
made  of  bull's  hide.  He  was  generally  clad  in  a 
long,  patched  livery  coat,  taken  out  of  the  ward- 
robe of  the  house;  and  which  bagged  loosely 
about  him,  having  evidently  belonged  to  some  • 
corpulent  predecessor,  in  the  more  plenteous  days 
of  the  mansion.  From  long  habits  of  taciturni- 
ty, the  hinges  of  his  jaws  seemed  to  have  grown 
absolutely  rusty,  and  it  cost  him  as  much  effort 
to  set  them  ajar,  and  to  let  out  a  tolerable  sen- 
tence, as  it  would  have  done  to  set  open  the  iron 
gates  of  the  park,  and  let  out  the  old  family  car- 
riage that  was  dropping  to  pieces  in  the  coach 
house. 

I  cannot  say,  however,  but  that  I  was  for  some 
time  amused  with  my  uncle's  peculiarities.  Even 
the  very  desolateness  of  the  establishment  had 
something  in  it  that  hit  my  fancy.  When  the 
weather  was  fine  I  used  to  amuse  myself,  in  a  so- 
litary way,  by  rambling  about  the  park,  and  cour- 
sing like  a  colt  across  its  lawns.  The  hares  and 
pheasants  seemed  to  stare  with  surprise,  to  see  a 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   81 

human  being  walking  these  forbidden  grounds 
by  day- light.  Sometimes  I  amused  myself  by 
jerking  stones,  or  shooting  at  birds  with  a  bow 
arid  arrows ;  for  tb  have  used  a  gun  would  have 
been  treason.  Now  and  then  my  path  was  cross- 
ed by  a  little  red-headed  ragged-tailed  urchin, 
the  son  of  the  woman  at  the  lodge,  who  ran  wild 
about  the  premises.  I  tried  to  draw  him  into  fa- 
miliarity, and  to  make  a  companion  of  him;  but 
he  seemed  to  have  imbibed  the  strange  unsocial 
character  of  every  thing  around  him ;  and  always 
kept  aloof;  so  I  considered  him  as  another  Or- 
son, and  amused  myself  with  shooting  at  him 
with  my  bow  and  arrows,  and  he  would  hold  up 
his  breeches  with  one  hand,  and  scamper  away 
like  a  deer. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  loneliness 
and  wildness  strangely  pleasing  to  me.  The 
great  stables,  empty  and  weather-broken,  with 
the  names  of  favourite  horses  over  the  vacant 
stalls;  the  windows  bricked  and  boarded  up; 
the  broken  roofs,  garrisoned  by  rooks  and  jack- 
daws ;  all  had  a  singularly  forlorn  appearance  : 


82  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

one  would  have  concluded  the  house  to  be  to- 
tally uninhabited,  were  it  not  for  a  little  thread 
of  blue  smoke,  which  now  and  then  curled  up 
like  a  corkscrew,  from  the  centre  of  one  of  the 
wide  chimneys,  when  my  uncle's  starveling  meal 
was  cooking. 

My  uncle's  room  was  in  a  remote  corner  of 
the  building,  strongly  secured  and  generally 
locked.  I  was  never  admitted  into  this  strong 
hold,  where  the  old  man  would  remain  for 
the  greater  part  of  the  time,  drawn  up  like  a 
veteran  spider  in  the  citadel  of  his  web.  The 
rest  of  the  mansion,  however,  was  open  to  me, 
and  I  sauntered  about  it,  unconstrained.  The 
damp  and  rain  which  beat  in  through  the  broken 
windows,  crumbled  the  paper  from  the  walls  ; 
mouldered  the  pictures,  and  gradually  destroyed 
the  furniture.  I  loved  to  rove  about  the  wide 
waste  chambers  in  bad  weather,  and  listen  to 
the  howling  of  the  wind,  and  the  banging  about 
of  the  doors  and  window  shutters.  I  pleased 
myself  with  the  idea  how  completely,  when  I 
came  to  the  estate,  I  would  renovate  all  things, 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   83 

and  make  the  old  building  ring  with  merriment, 
till  it  was  astonished  at  its  own  jocundity. 

The  chamber  which  I  occupied  on  these  visits 
was  the  same  that  had  been  my  mother's,  when 
a  girl.  There  was  still  the  toilet  table  of  her 
own  adorning  ;  the  landscapes  of  her  own  draw- 
ing. She  had  never  seen  it  since  her  marriage, 
but  would  often  ask  me  if  every  thing  was  still 
the  same.  All  was  just  the  same  ;  for  I  loved 
that  chamber  on  her  account,  and  had  taken 
pains  to  put  every  thing  in  order,  and  to  mend 
all  the  flaws  in  the  windows  with  my  own  hands. 
I  anticipated  the  time  when  I  should  once  more 
welcome  her  to  the  house  of  her  fathers,  and  re- 
store her  to  this  little  nestling  place  of  her  child- 
hood. 

At  length  my  evil  genius,  or,  what  perhaps  is 
the  same  thing,  the  muse  inspired  me  with  the 
notion  of  rhyming  again.  My  uncle,  who  never 
went  to  church,  used  on  Sundays  to  read  chap- 
ters out  of  the  bible ;  and  Iron  John,  the  woman 
from  the  lodge,  and  myself,  were  his  congregation. 
It  seemed  to  be  all  one  to  him  what  he  read,  so 
long  as  it  was  something  from  the  bible  :  some- 


84  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

times,  therefore,  it  would  be  the  Song  of  Solo- 
mon ;  and  this  withered  anatomy  would  read 
about  being  "  stayed  with  flaggons  and  com- 
forted with  apples,  for  he  was  sick  of  love." 
Sometimes  he  would  hobble,  with  spectacle  on 
nose,  through  whole  chapters  of  hard  Hebrew 
names  in  Deuteronomy  ;  at  which  the  poor  wo- 
man would  sigh  and  groan  as  if  wonderfully 
moved.  His  favourite  book,  however,  was  "  The 
Pilgrim's  Progress ;"  and  when  he  came  to  that 
part  which  treats  of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant 
Despair,  I  thought  invariably  of  him  and  his  de- 
solate old  country  seat.  So  much  did  the  idea 
amuse  me,  that  I  took  to  scribbling  about  it  un- 
der the  trees  in  the  park ;  and  in  a  few  days  had 
made  some  progress  in  a  poem,  in  which  I  had 
given  a  description  of  the  place,  under  the  name 
of  Doubting  Castle,  and  personified  my  uncle  as 
Giant  Despair. 

I  lost  my  poem  somewhere  about  the  house, 
and  I  soon  suspected  that  my  uncle  had  found  it ; 
as  he  harshly  intimated  to  me  that  I  could  return 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   86 

home,  and  that  I  need  not  coine  and  see  him 
again  until  he  should  send  for  me. 

Just  about  this  time  my  mother  died. — I  can- 
not  dwell  upon  the  circumstance ;  my  heart, 
careless  and  wayworn  as  it  is,  gushes  with  the 
recollection.  Her  death  was  an  event,  that  per- 
haps gave  a  turn  to  all  my  after  fortunes.  With 
her  died  all  that  made  home  attractive,  for  my 
father  was  harsh,  as  I  have  before  said,  and  had 
never  treated  me  with  kindness.  Not  that  he 
exerted  any  unusual  severity  towards  me,  but  it 
was  his  way.  I  do  not  complain  of  him.  In 
fact,  I  have  never  been  much  of  a  complaining 
disposition.  I  seem  born  to  be  buffetted  by 
friends  and  fortune,  and  nature  has  made  me  a 
careless  endurer  of  buffettings. 

I  now,  however,  began  to  grow  very  impatient 
of  remaining  at  school,  to  be  flogged  for  things 
that  I  did  not  like.  I  longed  for  variety,  espe- 
cially now  that  I  had  not  my  uncle's  to  resort  to? 
by  way  of  diversifying  the  dullness  of  school 
with  the  dreariness  of  his  country  seat.  I  was 
now  turned  of  sixteen  ;  tall  for  my  age,  and  ftfll 

PART  II.  12 


#6  BUCKTHORNE,  OR 

of  idle  fancies.  I  had  a  roving,  inextinguishable 
desire  to  see  different  kinds  of  life,  and  different 
orders  of  society ;  and  this  vagrant  humour  had 
been  fostered  in  me  by  Tom  Dribble,  the  prime 
wag  and  great  genius  of  the  school,  who  had  all 
the  rambling  propensities  of  a  poet. 

I  used  to  set  at  my  desk  in  the  school,  on  a  fine 
summer's  day,  and  instead  of  studying  the  book 
which  lay  open  before  me,  my  eye  was  gazing 
through  the  window  on  the  green  fields  and 
blue  hills.  How  I  envied  the  happy  groups 
seated  on  the  tops  of  stage  coaches,  chatting, 
and  joking,  and  laughing,  as  they  were  whirled 
by  the  school  house,  on  their  way  to  the  metro- 
polis. Even  the  waggoners  trudging  along  be- 
side their  ponderous  teams,  and  traversing  the 
kingdom,  from  one  end  to  the  other,  were  objects 
of  envy  to  me.  I  fancied  to  myself  what  ad- 
ventures the^  must  experience,  and  what  odd 
scenes  of  life  they  must  witness.  All  this  was, 
doubtless,  the  poetical  temperament  working 
within  me,  arid  tempting  me  forth  into  a  world 
of  its  own  creation,  which  I  mistook  for  the 
world  of  real  life. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   87 

While  my  mother  lived  this  strong  propensity 
to  rove  was  counteracted  by  the  stronger  attrac- 
tions of  home,  and  by  the  powerful  ties  of  affec- 
tion, which  drew  me  to  her  side  ;  but  now  that 
she  was  gone,  the  attractions  had  ceased  ;  the 
ties  were  severed.  I  had  no  longer  an  anchor- 
age ground  for  my  heart ;  but  was  at  the  mercy 
of  every  Tagrant  impulse.  Nothing  but  the  nar- 
row allowance  on  which  my  father  kept  me,  and 
the  consequent  penury  of  my  purse,  prevented 
me  from  mounting  the  top  of  a  stage  coach  arid 
launching  myself  adrift  on  the  great  ocean  of 
life. 

Just  about  this  time  the  village  was  agitated  for 
a  day  or  two,  by  the  passing  through  of  several 
caravans,  containing  wild  beasts,  and  other  spec- 
tacles for  a  great  fair  annually  held  at  a  neigh- 
bouring town. 

I  had  never  seen  a  fair  of  any  consequence, 
and  my  curiosity  was  powerfully  awakened  by 
this  bustle  of  preparation.  I  gazed  with  re- 
spect and  wonder  at  the  vagrant  personages  who 
accompanied  these  caravans.  I  loitered  about 


8&  BITCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

the  village  inn,  listening  with  curiosity  and  de- 
light to  the  slang  talk  and  cant  jokes  of  the 
showmen  and  their  followers  ;  and  I  felt  an 
eager  desire  to  witness  this  fair,  which  my  fancy 
decked  out  as  something  wonderfully  fine. 

A  holy  day  afternoon  presented,  when  I  could 
be  absent  from  the  school  from  noon  until  even- 
ing. A  waggon  was  going  from  the  village  to 
the  fair.  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  nor 
the  eloquence  of  Tom  Dribble,  who  was  a  truant 
to  the  very  heart's  core.  We  hired  seats,  and 
sat  off  full  of  boyish  expectation.  I  promised 
myself  that  I  would  but  take  a  peep  at  the  land 
of  promise,  and  hasten  back  again  before  my  ab- 
sence should  be  noticed. 

Heavens  !  how  happy  I  was  on  arriving  at 
the  fair  !  How  I  was  enchanted  with  the  world 
of  fun  and  pageantry  around  me  !  The  hu- 
mours of  Punch  ;  the  feats  of  the  equestrians ; 
the  magical  tricks  of  the  conjurors  !  But  what 
principally  caught  my  attention  was — an  itine- 
rant theatre  ;  where  a  tragedy,  pantomine  and 
force  were  all  acted  in  the  course  of  half  an 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.       89 

hour,  and  more  of  the  dramatis  personae  murder- 
ed, than  at  either  Drury  Lane  or  Covent  Garden 
in  a  whole  .evening.  I  have  since  seen  many  a 
play  performed  by  the  best  actors  in  tha  world, 
but  never  have  I  derived  half  the  delight  from 
any  that  I  did  from  this  first  representation. 

There  was  a  ferocious  tyrant  in  a  skull  cap 
like  an  inverted  porringer,  and  a  dress  of  red 
baize,  magnificently  embroidered  with  gilt  lea- 
ther ;  with  his  face  so  be-whiskered  and  his  eye- 
brows so  knit  and  expanded  with  burnt  cork, 
that  he  made  my  heart  quake  within  me  as  he 
stamped  about  the  little  stage.  I  was  enraptured 
too  with  the  surpassing  beauty  of  a  distressed 
damsel,  in  faded  pink  silk,  and  dirty  white  mus- 
lin, whom  he  held  in  cruel  captivity  by  way  of 
gaining  her  affections ;  and  who  wept  and  wrung 
her  hands  and  flourished  a  ragged  pocket  hand- 
kerchief from  the  top  of  an  impregnable  tower, 
of  the  size  of  a  band -box. 

Even  after  1  had  come  out  from  the  play,  I 
could  not  tear  myself  from  the  vicinity  of  the 
theatre  ;  but  lingered,  gazing,  and  wondering, 


90  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

and  laughing  at  the  dramatis  personse,  as  they 
performed  their  antics,  or  danced  upon  a  stage 
in  front  of  the  booth,  to  decoy  a  new  set  of  spec- 
tators. 

I  was  so  bewildered  by  the  scene,  and  so  lost 
in  the  crowd  of  sensations  that  kept  swarming 
upon  me,  that  I  was  like  one  entranced.  I  lost 
my  companion  Tom  Dribble,  in  a  tumult  and 
scuffle  that  took  place  near  one  of  the  shows, 
but  I  was  too  much  occupied  in  mind  to  think 
long  about  him.  I  strolled  about  until  dark, 
when  the  fair  was  lighted  up,  and  a  new  scene 
of  magic  opened  upon  me.  The  illumination 
of  the  tents  and  booths ;  the  brilliant  effect  of 
the  stages  decorated  with  lamps,  with  dramatic 
groups  flaunting  about  them  in  gaudy  dresses, 
contrasted  splendidly  with  the  surrounding  dark- 
ness ;  while  the  uproar  of  drums,  trumpets,  fid- 
dles, hautboys  and  cymbals,  mingled  with  the 
harangues  of  the  showmen,  the  squeaking  of 
Punch,  and  the  shouts  and  laughter  of  the 
crowd,  all  united  to  complete  my  giddy  distrac- 
tion. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GftEAT  EXPECTATIONS.      91 

Time  flew  without  my  perceiving  it.  When  \ 
came  to  myself  and  thought  of  the  school,  I  has- 
tened to  return.  I  inquired  for  the  waggon  in 
which  I  had  come  :  it  had  been  gone  for  hours. 
I  asked  the  time  :  it  was  almost  midnight !  A 
sudden  quaking  seized  me.  How  was  I  to  get 
back  to  school  ?  I  was  too  weary  to  make  the 
journey  on  foot,  and  I  knew  not  where  to  apply 
for  a  conveyance.  Even  if  I  should  find  one, 
could  I  venture  to  disturb  the  school  house  long 
after  midnight  ?  to  arouse  that  sleeping  lion  the 
usher,  in  the  very  midst  of  his  night's  rest  ?  The 
idea  was  too  dreadful  for  a  delinquent  school- 
boy. All  the  horrors  of  return  rushed  upon  me 
— my  absence  must  long  before  this  have  been 
remarked — and  absent  for  a  whole  night! — a 
deed  of  darkness  not  easily  to  be  expiated.  The 
rod  of  the  pedagogue  budded  forth  into  tenfold 
terrors  before  my  affrighted  fancy.  I  pictured  to 
myself  punishment  and  humiliation  in  every  va- 
riety of  form  ;  and  my  heart  sickened  at  the  pic- 
ture. Alas  !  how  often  are  the  petty  ills  of  boy- 


92  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

hood  as  painful  to  our  tender  natures,  as  are  the 
sterner  evils  of  manhood  to  our  robuster  minds. 

I  wandered  about  among  the  booths,  and  I 
might  have  derived  a  lesson  from  my  actual  feel- 
ings, how  much  the  charms  of  this  world  depend 
upon  ourselves ;  for  I  no  longer  saw  any  thing  gay 
or  delightful  in  the  revelry  around  me.  At  length 
I  lay  down,  wearied  and  perplexed,  behind  one 
of  the  large  tents,  and  covering  myself  with  the 
margin  of  the  tent  cloth,  to  keep  off  the  night 
chill,  I  soon  fell  asleep. 

I  had  not  slept  long,  when  I  was  awakened  by 
the  noise  of  merriment  within  an  adjoining 
booth.  It  was  the  itinerant  theatre,  rudely  con- 
structed of  boards  and  canvas.  I  peeped  through 
an  aperture,  and  saw  the  whole  dramatis  per- 
sonae,  tragedy,  comedy,  and  pantomime,  all  re- 
freshing themselves  after  the  final  dismissal  of 
their  auditors.  They  were  merry  and  gamesome, 
and  made  their  flimsy  theatre  ring  with  their 
laughter.  I  was  astonished  to  see  the  tragedy 
tyrant  in  red  baize  and  fierce  whiskers,  who  had 
made  my  heart  quake  as  he  strutted  about  the 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   93 

boards,   now  transformed  into  a  fat,  good  hu- 
moured fellow  ;  the  beaming  porringer  laid  aside 
^from  his  brow,  and  his  jolly  face  washed  from 
^all  the  terrors  of  burnt  cork.     I  was  delighted, 
too,  to  see  the  distressed  damsel,  in  faded  silk 
and  dirty  muslin,   who  had  trembled  under  his 
tyranny,  and  afflicted  me  so  much  by  her  sor- 
rows ;  now  seated  familiarly  on  his   knee,  and 
quaffing  from  the  same  tankard.     Harlequin  lay 
asleep  on  one  of  the  benches  ;  and  monks,  satyrs, 
and  vestal  virgins  were  grouped  together,  laugh- 
ing outrageously  at  a  broad  story,  told  by  an  un- 
happy count,  who  had  been  barbarously  murder- 
ed in  the  tragedy. 

This  was,  indeed,  novelty  to  me.     It  was  a 
peep  into  another  planet.     I  gazed  and  listened 
with  intense   curiosity  and  enjoyment.     They 
had  a  thousand  odd  stories  and  jokes  about  the 
events  of  the  day,  and  burlesque  descriptions  and 
mimickings  of  the  spectators,  who  had  been  ad- 
miring them.     Their  conversation  was  full  of 
allusions  to  their  adventures  at  different  places, 
where  they  had  exhibited  ;   the  characters  they 
PART  II.  13 


94  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

had  met  with  in  different  villages ;  and  the  lu- 
dicrous difficulties  in  which  they  had  occasion- 
ally been  involved.  All  past  cares  and  troubles  ^ 
were  now  turned  by  these  thoughtless  beings 
into  matter  of  merriment ;  and  made  to  con- 
tribute to  the  gayety  of  the  moment.  They 
had  been  moving  from  fair  to  fair  about  the 
kingdom,  and  were  the  next  morning  to  set  out 
on  their  way  to  London. 

My  resolution  was  taken.  I  crept  from  my 
nest,  and  scrambled  through  a  hedge  into  a 
neighbouring  field,  where  1  went  to  work  to 
make  a  tatterdemalion  of  myself.  I  tore  my 
clothes ;  sailed  them  with  dirt ;  begrimed  my 
face  and  hands  ;  and,  crawling  near  one  of  the 
booths,  purloined  an  old  hat,  and  left  my  new 
one  in  its  place.  It  was  an  honest  theft,  and  I 
hope  may  not  hereafter  rise  up  in  judgment 
against  me. 

I  now  ventured  to  the  scene  of  merrymaking, 
and,  presenting  myself  before  the  dramatic  corps, 
offered  myself  as  a  volunteer.  I  felt  terribly 
agitated  and  abashed,  for  "  never  before  stood 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   95 

I  in  such  a  presence."  I  had  addressed  myself 
to  the  manager  of  the  company.  He  was  a  fat 
man  dressed  in  dirty  white ;  with  a  red  sash 
fringed  with  tinsel,  swathed  round  his  body. 
His  face  was  smeared  with  paint,  and  a  majestic 
plume  towered  from  an  old  spangled  black  bon- 
net. He  was  the  Jupiter  tonans  of  this  Olym- 
pus, and  was  surrounded  by  the  inferior  gods 
and  goddesses  of  his  court.  He  sat  on  the  end 
of  a  bench,  by  a  table,  with  one  arm  akimbo  and 
the  other  extended  to  the  handle  of  a  tankard, 
which  he  had  slowly  set  down  from  his  lips,  as 
he  surveyed  me  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  a 
moment  of  awful  scrutiny,  and  I  fancied  the 
groups  around  all  watching  us  in  silent  suspense, 
and  waiting  for  the  imperial  nod. 

He  questioned  me  as  to  who  I  was ;  \vhat  were 
my  qualifications ;  and  what  terms  I  expected.  I 
passed  myself  off  for  a  discharged  servant  from  a 
gentleman's  family ;  and  as,  happily,  one  does 
not  require  a  special  recommendation  to  get  ad- 
mitted into  bad  company,  the  questions  on  that 
head  were  easily  satisfied.  As  to  my  accomplish- 


96  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

ments,  I  would  spout  a  little  poetry,  and  knew 
several  scenes  of  plays,  which  I  had  learnt  at 

school  exhibitions.     I  could  dance ,  that 

was  enough  ;  no  farther  questions  were  asked 
me  as  to  accomplishments  ;  it  w  as  the  very  thing 
they  wanted  ;  and,  as  I  asked  no  wages,  but 
merely  meat  and  drink,  and  safe  conduct  about 
the  world,  a  bargain  was  struck  in  a  moment. 

Behold  me,  therefore,  transformed  of  a  sud- 
den, from  a  gentleman  student  to  a  dancing  buf- 
foon ;  for  such,  in  fact,  was  the  character  in  which 
I  made  my  debut.  I  was  one  of  those  who 
formed  the  groupes  in  the  dramas,  and  were  prin- 
cipally employed  on  the  stage  in  front  of  the 
booth,  to  attract  company.  I  was  equipped  as 
a  satyr,  in  a  dress  of  drab  frize  that  fitted  to  my 
shape  ;  with  a  great  laughing  mask,  ornamented 
with  huge  ears  and  short  horns.  I  was  pleased 
with  the  disguise,  because  it  kept  me  from  the 
danger  of  being  discovered,  whilst  we  were  in 
that  part  of  the  country  ;  and,  as  I  had  merely 
to  dance  and  make  antics,  the  character  was  fa- 
vourable to  a  debutant,  being  almost  on  a  par 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   97 

with  Simon  Snug's  part  of  the  Lion,  which  re- 
quired nothing  but  roaring. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  was  at  this  sud- 
den change  in  my  situation.  I  felt  no  degrada- 
tion, for  I  had  seen  too  little  of  society  to  be 
thoughtful  about  the  differences  of  rank  ;  and  a 
boy  of  sixteen  is  seldom  aristocrarical.  I  had 
given  up  no  friend ;  for  there  seemed  to  be  no 
one  in  the  world  that  cared  for  me,  now  my  poor 
mother  was  dead.  I  had  given  up  no  pleasure ; 
for  my  pleasure  was  to  ramble  about  and  indulge 
the  flow  of  a  poetical  imagination  ;  and  I  now 
enjoyed  it  in  perfection.  There  is  no  life  so 
truly  poetical  as  that  of  a  dancing  buffoon. 

It  may  be  Said  that  all  this  argued  grovelling 
inclinations.  I  do  not  think  so  ;  not  that  I  mean 
to  vindicate  myself  in  any  great  degree ;  I  know 
too  well  what  a  whimsical  compound  I  am.  But 
in  this  instance  I  was  seduced  by  no  love  of  low 
company,  nor  disposition  to  indulge  in  low  vices. 
I  have  always  despised  the  brutally  vulgar ;  and 
I  have  always  had  a  disgust  at  vice,  whether  in 
high  or  low  life.  I  was  governed  merely  by  a 


98  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

sudden  and  thoughtless  impulse.  I  had  no  idea 
of  resorting  to  this  profession  as  a  mode  of  life  ; 
or  of  attaching  myself  to  these  people,  as  my  fu- 
ture class  of  society.  I  thought  merely  of  a  tem- 
porary gratification  of  my  curiosity,  and  an  in- 
dulgence of  my  humours.  I  had  already  a  strong 
relish  for  the  peculiarities  of  character  and  the 
varieties  of  situation,  and  I  have  always  been 
fond  of  the  comedy  of  life,  and  desirous  of  seeing 
it  through  all  its  shifting  scenes. 

In  mingling,  therefore,  among  mountebanks 
and  buffoons  I  was  protected  by  the  very  vivaci- 
ty of  imagination  which  had  led  me  among 
them.  I  moved  about  enveloped,  as  it  were,  in 
a  protecting  delusion,  which  my  fancy  spread 
around  me.  I  assimilated  to  these  people  only 
as  they  struck  me  poetically  ;  their  whimsical 
ways  and  a  certain  picturesqueness  in  their  mode 
of  life  entertained  me  ;  but  I  was  neither  amus- 
ed nor  corrupted  by  their  vices.  In  short,  I  min- 
gled among  them,  as  Prince  Hal  did  among 
his  graceless  associates,  merely  to  gratify  my 
humour. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.    99 

I  did  not  investigate  my  motives  in  this  man- 
ner, at  the  time,  for  I  was  too  careless  and 
thoughtless  to  reason  about  the  matter  ;  but  I  do 
so  now,  when  I  look  back  with  trembling  to 
think  of  the  ordeal  to  which  I  unthinkingly  ex- 
posed myself,  and  the  manner  in  which  I  passed 
through  it.  Nothing,  I  am  convinced,  but  the 
poetical  temperament,  that  hurried  me  into  the 
scrape,  brought  me  out  of  it  without  my  be- 
coming an  arrant  vagabond. 

Full  of  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment,  giddy 
with  the  wildness  of  animal  spirits,  so  rapturous 
in  a  boy,  1  capered,  I  danced,  I  played  at  housand 
fantastic  tricks  about  the  stage,  in  the  villages 
in  which  we  exhibited ;  and  I  was  universally 
pronounced  the  most  agreeable  monster  that  had 
ever  been  seen  in  those  parts.  My  disappearance 
from  school  had  awakened  my  father's  anxiety  ; 
for  I  one  day  heard  a  description  of  myself  cried 
before  the  very  booth  in  which  I  was  exhibiting  ; 
with  the  offer  of  a  reward  for  any  intelligence  of 
me.  I  had  no  great  scruple  about  letting  my  fa- 
ther suffer  a  little  uneasiness  on  my  account ;  it 


100  BUCKTHORINE,  OR  THE 

would  punish  him  for  past  indifference,  and  would 
make  him  value  me  the  more  when  he  found  me 
again.  I  have  wondered  that  some  of  my  com- 
rades did  not  recognize  in  me  the  stray  sheep 
that  was  cried  ;  but  they  were  all,  no  doubt,  oc- 
cupied by  their  own  concerns.  They  were  all  la- 
bouring seriously  in  their  antic  vocations,  for  fol- 
ly was  a  mere  trade  with  most  of  them,  and  they 
often  grinned  and  capered  with  heavy  hearts. 
With  me,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  all  real.  I  acted 
con  amore,  and  rattled  and  laughed  from  the  ir- 
repressible gayety  of  my  spirits.  It  is  true  that, 
now  and  then,  I  started  and  looked  grave  on  re- 
ceiving a  sudden  thwack  from  the  wooden  sword 

o 

of  Harlequin,  in  the  course  of  my  gambols;  as  it 
brought  to  mind  the  birch  of  my  schoolmaster. 
But  1  soon  got  accustomed  to  it;  and  bore  all  the 
cuffing,  and  kicking,  and  tumbling  about,  that 
form  the  practical  wit  of  your  itinerant  pantomime, 
with  a  good  humour  that  made  me  a  prodigious 
favourite. 

The  country  campaign  of  the  troop  was  soon 
at  an  end,  and  we  set  off  for  the  metropolis,  to 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  101 

perform  at  the  fairs,  which  are  held  in  its  vicinity. 
T{ie  greater  part  of  our  theatrical  property  was 
sent  on  direct,  to  be  in  a  state  of  preparation  for 
the  opening  of  the  faifs ;  while  a  detachment  of 
the  company  travelled  slowly  on,  foraging  among 
the  villages.  I  was  amused  with  the  desultory, 
hap-hazard  kind  of  life  we  led  ;  here  to-day,  arid 
gone  to-morrow.  Sometimes  revelling  in  ale 
houses ;  sometimes  feasting  under  hedges  in  the 
green  fields.  When  audiences  were  crowded 
and  business  profitable,  we  fared  well,  and  when 
otherwise,  we  fared  scantily,  and  consoled  our- 
selves with  anticipations  of  the  next  day's  success. 

At  length  the  increasing  frequency  of  coaches 
hurrying  past  us,  covered  with  passengers ;  the 
increasing  number  of  carriages,  carts,  wagons, 
gigs,  droves  of  cattle  and  flocks  of  sheep,  all 
thronging  the  road  ;  the  snug  country  boxes  with 
trim  flower  gardens  twelve  feet  square,  and  their 
trees  twelve  feet  high,  all  powdered  with  dust : 
and  the  innumerable  seminaries  for  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  situated  along  the  road,  fur  the 
benefit  of  country  air  and  rural  retirement ;  all 

PART  II.  14 


102  BUCKTHORNE,  OR   THE' 

these  insignia  announced  that  the  mighty  Lon- 
don was  at  hand.  The  hurry,  and  the  crowd,  and 
the  bustle,  and  the  noise,  and  the  dust,  increased 
as  we  proceeded,  until  I^aw  the  great  cloud  of 
smoke  hanging  in  the  air,  like  a  canopy  of  state, 
over  this  queen  of  cities. 

In  this  way,  then,  did  I  enter  the  metropolis ;  a 
strolling  vagabond  ;  on  the  top  of  a  caravan  with 
a  crew  of  vagabonds  about  me  ;  but  1  was  as  hap- 
py as  a  prince,  for,  like  Prince  Hal,  I  felt  myself 
superior  to  my  situation,  and  knew  that  I  could 
at  any  time  cast  it  off  and  emerge  into  my  proper 
sphere. 

How  my  eyes  sparkled  as  we  passed  Hyde- 
park  corner,  and  I  saw  splendid  equipages  roll- 
ing by,  with  powdered  footmen  behind,  in  rich 
liveries,  and  fine  nosegays,  and  gold-head- 
ed canes ;  and  with  lovely  women  within,  so 
sumptuously  dressed  and  so  surpassingly  fair.  I 
was  always  extremely  sensible  to  female  beauty  ; 
and  here  I  saw  it  in  all  its  fascination,  for,  what- 
ever may  be  said  of  "beauty  unadorned,"  there 
is  something  almost  awful  in  female  loveliness 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   103 

decked  out  in  jewelled  state.  The  swan-like  neck 
encircled  with  diamonds  ;  the  raven  locks,  clus- 
tered with  pearls  ;  the  ruby  glowing  on  the  snowy 
bosom,  are  objects  that  I  could  never  contem- 
plate without  emotion  ;  and  a  dazzling  white  arm 
clasped  with  bracelets,  and  taper  transparent  fin- 
gers laden  with  sparkling  rings,  are  to  me  irre- 
sistible. My  very  eyes  ached  as  I  gazed  at  the 
high  and  courtly  beauty  that  passed  before  me. 
It  surpassed  all  that  my  imagination  had  conceiv- 
ed of  the  sex.  I  shrunk,  for  a  moment,  into  shame 
at  the  company  in  which  I  was  placed,  and  re- 
pined at  the  vast  distance  that  seemed  to  inter- 
vene between  me  and  these  magnificent  beings. 

I  forbear  to  give  a  detail  of  the  happy  life  which 
I  led  about  the  skirts  of  the  metropolis,  playing 
at  the  various  fairs,  held  there  during  the  latter 
part  of  spring  and  the  beginning  of  summer. 
This  continual  change  from  place  to  place,  and 
scene  to  scene,  fed  my  imagination  with  novel- 
ties, and  kept  my  spirits  in  a  perpetual  state  of 
excitement. 

As  I  was  tall  of  my  age  I  aspired,  at  one  time, 


104  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

to  play  heroes  in  tragedy  ;  but  after  two  or  three 
trials,  I  was  pronounced,  by  the  manager,  totally 
unfit  for  the  line  ;  and  our  first  tragic  actress, 
who  was  a  large  woman,  and  held  a  small  hero 
in  abhorrence,  confirmed  his  decision. 

The  fact  is,  I  had  attempted  to  give  point  to 
language  which  had  no  point,  and  nature  to 
scenes  which  had  no  nature.  They  said  1  did 
not  fill  out  my  characters ;  and  they  were  right. 
The  characters  had  all  been  prepared  for  a  dif- 
ferent sort  of  man.  Our  tragedy  hero  was  a 
round  robustious  fellow,  with  an  amazing  voice  ; 
who  stamped  and  slapped  his  breast  until  his 
wig  shook  again ;  and  who  roared  and  bellowed 
out  his  bombast,  until  every  phrase  swelled  upon 
the  ear  like  the  sound  of  a  kettle-drum.  I  might 
as  well  have  attempted  to  fill  out  his  clothes  as 
his  characters.  When  we  had  a  dialogue  to- 
gether, I  was  nothing  before  him,  with  my  slen- 
der voice  and  discriminating  manner.  I  might 
as  well  have  attempted  to  parry  a  cudgel  with 
a  small  sword.  If  he  found  me  in  any  way 
gaining  ground  upon  him,  he  would  take  refuge 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  105 

in  his  mighty  voice,  and  throw  his  tones  like  peals 
of  thunder  at  me,  until  they  were  drowned  in 
the  still  louder  thunders  of  applause  from  the 
audience. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  suspect  that  I  was  not 
shown  fair  play,  and  that  there  was  management 
at  the  bottom ;  for  without  vanity,  I  think  I  was 
a  better  actor  than  he.  As  I  had  not  embarked 
in  the  vagabond  line  through  ambition,  I  did  not 
repine  at  lack  of  preferment ;  but  I  was  grieved 
to  find  that  a  vagrant  life  was  not  without  its 
cares  and  anxieties,  and  that  jealousies,  intrigues 
and  mad  ambition  were  to  be  found  even  among 
vagabonds. 

Indeed,  as  I  became  more  familiar  with  my 
situation,  and  the  delusions  of  fancy  began  to 
fade  away,  I  discovered  that  my  associates  wrere 
not  the  h'appy  careless  creatures  I  had  at  first 
imagined  them.  They  were  jeateus  of  each 
other's  talents  ;  they  quarrelled  about  parts,  the 
same  as  the  actors  on  the  grand  theatres ;  they 
quarrelled  about  dresses ;  and  there  was  one  robe 
of  yellow  silk,  trimmed  with  red,  and  a  head- 

•' 


106  BUCKTHORNS,  OR  THfc 

dress  of  three  rumpled  ostrich  feathers,  which 
were  continually  setting  the  ladies  of  the  com- 
pany by  the  ears.  Even  those  who  had  attained 
the  highest  honours  were  not  more  happy  than 
the  rest ;  for  Mr.  Flimsey  himself,  our  first  tra- 
gedian, and  apparently  a  jovial  good  humoured 
fellow,  confessed  to  me  one  day,  in  the  fullness 
of  his  heart,  that  he  was  a  miserable  man.  He 
had  a  brother-in-law,  a  relative  by  marriage, 
though  not  by  blood,  who  was  manager  of  a 
theatre  in  a  small  country  town.  And  this  same 
brother,  ("a  little  more  than  kin,  but  less  than 
kind,")  looked  down  upon  him,  and  treated  him 
with  contumely,  because  forsooth  he  was  but  a 
strolling  player.  I  tried  to  console  him  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  vast  applause  he  daily  received,  but 
it  was  all  in  vain.  He  declared  that  it  gave  him 
no  delight,  and  that  he  should  never  be'  a  happy 
man  until  the  name  of  Flimsey  rivalled  the  name 
of  Crimp. 

How  little  do  those  before  the  scenes  know 
of  what  passes  behind ;  how  little  can  they  judge, 
from  the  countenances  of  actors,  of  what  is  pass- 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   107 

ing  in  their  hearts.  I  have  known  two  lovers 
quarrel  like  cats  behind  the  scenes,  who  were, 
the  moment  after,  to  fly  into  each  other's  em- 
braces. And  I  have  dreaded,  when  our  Belvi- 
dera  was  to  take  her  farewell  kiss  of  her  Jaffier^ 
lest  she  should  bite  a  piece  out  of  his  cheek. 
Our  tragedian  was  a  rough  joker  off  the  stage  ; 
our  prime  clown  the  most  peevish  mortal  living. 
The  latter  used  to  go  about  snapping  and  snarl- 
ing, with  a  broad  laugh  painted  on  his  counte- 
nance ;  and  I  can  assure  you  that,  whatever  may 
be  said  of  the  gravity  of  a  monkey,  or  the  me- 
lancholy of  a  gibed  cat,  there  is  no  more  melan- 
choly creature  in  existence  than  a  mountebank 
off  duty. 

The  only  thing  in  which  all  parties  agreed 
was  to  backbite  the  manager,  and  cabal  against 
his  regulations.  This,  however,  I  have  since 
discovered  to  be  a  common  trait  of  human  na- 
ture, and  to  take  place  in  all  communities.  It 
would  seem  to  be  the  main  business  of  man  to 
repine  at  government.  In  all  situations  of  life  into 
which  I  have  looked,  I  have  found  mankind 


10(>  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

divided  into  two  grand  parties  ; — those  who  ride 
and  those  who  are  ridden.  The  great  struggle 
of  life  seems  to  be  which  shall  keep  in  the  sad- 
dle. This,  it  appears  to  me,  is  the  fundamental 
principle  of  politics,  whether  in  great  or  little 
life.  However,  I  do  not  mean  to  moralize ;  but 
one  cannot  always  sink  the  philosopher. 

Well  then,  to  return  to  myself.  It  was  deter- 
mined, as  I  said,  that  I  was  not  fit  for  tragedy, 
and,  unluckily,  as  my  study  was  bad,  having  a 
very  poor  memory,  I  was  pronounced  unfit  for 
comedy  also  :  besides,  the  line  of  young  gentle- 
men was  already  engrossed  by  an  actor  with 
whom  I  could  not  pretend  to  enter  into  compe- 
tition, he  having  filled  it  for  almost  half  a  cen- 
tury. I  came  down  again  therefore  to  panto- 
mime. In  consequence,  however,  of  the  good 
offices  of  the  manager's  lady,  who  had  taken  a 
liking  to  me,  I  was  promoted  from  the  part  of  the 
satyr  to  that  of  the  lover ;  and  with  my  face 
patched  and  painted  ;  a  huge  cravat  of  paper  ;  a 
steeple  crowned  hat,  and  dangling  long-skirted, 
sky  blue  coat,  was  metamorphosed  into  the 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   109 

lover  of  Columbine.  My  part  did  not  call  for 
much  of  the  tender  and  sentimental.  I  had 
merely  to  pursue  the  fugitive  fair  one ;  to  have 
a  door  now  and  then  slammed  in  my  face ;  to 
run  my  head  occasionally  against  a  post ;  to 
tumble  and  roll  about  with  Pantaloon  and  the 
clown ;  and  to  endure  the  hearty  thwacks  of 
Harlequin's  wooden  sword. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  my  poetical  temper- 
ament began  to  ferment  within  me,  and  to  work 
out  new  troubles.  The  inflammatory  air  of  a 
great  metropolis,  added  to  the  rural  scenes  in 
which  the  fairs  were  held  ;  such  as  Greenwich 
Park;  Epping  Forest;  and  the  lovely  valley  of 
West  End,  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  me.  While 
in  Greenwich  Park  I  was  witness  to  the  old  ho- 
lyday  games  of  running  down  hill ;  and  kissing 
in  the  ring ;  and  then  the  firmament  of  blooming 
faces  and  blue  eyes,  that  would  be  turned  to- 
wards me,  as  I  was  playing  antics  on  the  stage ; 
all  these  set  my  young  blood,  and  my  poetical 
vein,  in  full  flow.  In  short,  I  played  my  charac- 
ter to  the  life,  and  became  desperately  enamour- 

PART  IL  15 


110  BUCKTHORNE,  Oil  THli 

ed  of  Columbine.  She  was  a  trim,  well  made, 
tempting  girl  ;  with  a  roguish  dimpling  face,  and 
fine  chesnut  hair  clustering  all  about  it.  The  mo- 
ment I  got  fairly  smitten,  there  was  an  end  to 
all  playing,  I  was  such  a  creature  of  fancy  and 
feeling,  that  I  could  not  put  on  a  pretended,  when 
I  was  powerfully  affected  by  a  real  emotion.  1 
could  not  sport  with  a  fiction  that  came  so  near 
to  the  fact.  I  became  too  natural  in  my  acting  to 
succeed.  And  then ;  what  a  situation  for  a  lover! 
I  was  a  mere  stripling,  and  she  played  with  my 
passion ;  for  girls  soon  grow  more  adroit  and 
knowing  in  these  matters,  than  your  awkward 
youngsters.  What  agonies  had  I  to  suffer.  Every 
time  that  she  danced  in  front  of  the  booth,  and 
made  such  liberal  displays  of  her  charms,  I  was 
in  torment.  To  complete  my  misery,  I  had  a 
real  rival  in  Harlequin ;  an  active,  vigorous, 
knowing  varlet  of  six-and-twenty.  What  had  a 
raw  inexperienced  youngster  like  me  to  hope 
from  such  a  competition. 

I  had  still,  however,  some  advantages  in  my 
favour.    In  spite  of  my  change  of  life,  I  retained 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   Ill 

Uiat  indescribable  something,  which  always  dis- 
tinguishes the  gentleman ;  that  something  which 
dwells  in  a  man's  air  and  deportment,  and  not  in 
his  clothes ;  and  which  it  is  as  difficult  for  a  gen- 
tleman to  put  off,  as  for  a  vulgar  fellow  to  put 
on.  The  company  generally  felt  it,  and  used  to 
call  me  little  gentleman  Jack.  The  girl  felt  it 
too ;  and  in  spite  of  her  predilection  for  my  pow- 
erful rival,  she  liked  to  flirt  with  me.  This  only 
aggravated  my  troubles,  by  increasing  my  pas- 
sion, and  awakening  the  jealousy  of  her  parti- 
coloured lover. 

Alas!  think  what  I  suffered,  at  being  obliged 
to  keep  up  an  ineffectual  chase  after  my  Colum- 
bine through  whole  pantomimes  ;  to  see  her  car- 
ried off  in  the  vigorous  arms  of  the  happy  Har- 
lequin ;  and  to  be  obliged  instead  of  snatching 
her  from  him,  to  tumble  sprawling  with  Panta- 
loon and  the  clown  ;  and  bear  the  infernal  and 
degrading  thwacks  of  my  rival's  weapon  of  lath ; 
which,  may  heaven  confound  him !  (excuse  my 
passion)  the  villain  laid  on  with  a  malicious  good 
will ;  nay,  I  could  absolutely  hear  him  chuckle 


112  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

and  laugh  beneath  his  accursed  mask. — I  beg 
pardon  for  growing  a  little  warm  in  my  narra- 
tion. I  wish  to  be  cool,  but  these  recollections 
will  sometimes  agitate  me.  I  have  heard  and 
read  of  many  desperate  and  deplorable  situations 
of  lovers ;  but  none  I  think  in  which  true  love 
was  ever  exposed  to  so  severe  and  peculiar  a 
trial. 

This  could  not  last  long.  Flesh  and  blood,  at 
least  such  flesh  and  blood  as  mine,  could  not  bear 
it.  I  had  repeated  heart-burnings  and  quarrels 
with  my  rival,  in  which  he  treated  me  with  the 
mortifying  forbearance  of  a  man  towards  a  child. 
Had  he  quarrelled  outright  with  me,  I  could  have 
stomached  it ;  at  least  1  should  have  known  what 
part  to  take  ;  but  to  be  humoured  and  treated  as 
a  child  in  the  presence  of  my  mistress,  when  I 
felt  all  the  bantam  spirit  of  a  little  man  swelling 
within  me — gods,  it  was  insufferable  ! 

At  length  we  were  exhibiting  one  day  at  West 
End  fair,  which  was  at  that  time  a  very  fashion- 
able resort,  and  often  beleaguered  by  gay  equip- 
ages from  town.  Among  the  spectators  that  fill- 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   113 

ed  the  front  row  of  our  little  canvas  theatre  one 
afternoon,  when  I  had  to  figure  in  a  pantomime, 
was  a  party  of  young  ladies  from  a  boarding- 
school,  with  their  governess.  Guess  my  confu- 
sion, when,  in  the.  midst  of  my  antics,  I  beheld 
among  the  number  my  quondam  flame;  her  whom 
I  had  berhymed  at  school ;  her  for  whose  charms 
I  had  smarted  so  severely  ;  the  cruel  Sacharissa  ! 
What  was  worse,  I  fancied  she  recollected  me ; 
and  was  repeating  the  story  of  my  humiliating 
flagellation,  for  I  saw  her  whispering  her  com- 
panions and  her  governess.  I  lost  all  conscious- 
ness of  the  part  I  was  acting,  and  of  the  place 
where  I  was.  I  felt  shrunk  to  nothing,  and  could 
have  crept  into  a  rat-hole — unluckily,  none  was 
open  to  receive  me.  Before  I  could  recover  from 
my  confusion,  I  wa's  tumbled  over  by  Pantaloon 
and  the  clown  ;  and  I  felt  the  sword  of  Harlequin 
making  vigorous  assaults,  in  a  manner  most  de-. 
grading  to  my  dignity. 

Heaven  and  earth  !  was  I  again  to  suffer  mar- 
tyrdom in  this  ignominious  manner,  in  the  know- 
ledge, and  even  before  the  very  eyes  of  this 


114  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

beautiful,  but  most  disdainful  of  fair  ones  ?  All 
my  long-smothered  wrath  broke  out  at  once ; 
the  dormant  feelings  of  the  gentleman  arose  with- 
in me  ;  stung  to  the  quick  by  intolerable  morti- 
fication. I  sprang  on  my  feet  in  an  instant ; 
leaped  upon  Harlequin  like  a  young  tiger ;  tore 
off  his  mask  ;  buffetted  him  in  the  face,  and  soon 
shed  more  blood  on  the  stage  than  had  been  spilt 
upon  it  during  a  whole  tragic  campaign  of  battles 
and  murders. 

As  soon  as  Harlequin  recovered  from  his  sur- 
prise he  returned  my  assault  with  interest.  I  was 
nothing  in  his  hands.  I  was  game  to  be  sure, 
for  I  was  a  gentleman ;  but  he  had  the  clown- 
ish advantages  of  bone  and  muscle.  I  felt  as  if 
I  could  have  fought  even  unto  the  death  ;  and  I 
was  likely  to  do  so ;  for  he  was,  according  to 
the  vulgar  phrase,  "  putting  my  head  into  Chan- 
cery," when  the  gentle  Columbine  flew  to  my 
assistance.  God  bless  the  women  ;  they  are 
always  on  the  side  of  the  weak  and  the  oppressed. 

The  battle  now  became  general ;  the  dramatis 
personae  ranged  on  either  side.  The  manager 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  115 

interfered  in  vain.  In  vain  were  his  spangled 
black  bonnet  and  towering  white  feathers  seen 
whisking  about,  and  nodding,  and  bobbing,  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fight.  Warriors,  ladies,  priests, 
satyrs,  kings,  queens,  gods  and  goddesses,  all 
joined  pell-mell  in  the  fray.  Never,  since  the 
conflict  under  the  walls  of  Troy,  had  there  been 
such  a  chance  medley  warfare  of  combatants, 
human  and  divine.  The  audience  applauded, 
the  ladies  shrieked,  and  fled  from  the  theatre, 
and  a  scene  of  discord  ensued  that  baffles  all  de- 
scription. 

Nothing  but  the  interference  of  the  peace  of- 
ficers restored  some  degree  of  order.  The  havoc, 
however,  that  had  been  made  among  dresses  and 
decorations  put  an  end  to  all  farther  acting  for 
that  day.  The  battle  over,  the  next  thing  was 
to  inquire  why  it  was  begun  ;  a  common  ques- 
tion among  politicians,  after  a  bloody  and  unpro- 
fitable war  ;  and  one  not  always  easy  to  be  an- 
swered. It  was  soon  traced  to  me,  and  my  un- 
accountable transport  of  passion,  which  they  could 
only  attribute  to  my  having  run  a  muck.  The 


116  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

manager  was  judge  and  jury,  and  plaintiff  into 
the  bargain,  and  in  such  cases  justice  is  always 
speedily  administered.  He  came  out  of  the  fight 
as  sublime  a  wreck  as  the  Santissima  Trinidada. 
His  gallant  plumes,  which  once  towered  aloft, 
were  drooping  about  his  ears.  His  robe  of  state 
hung  in  ribbands  from  his  back,  and  but  ill  con- 
cealed the  ravag.es  he  had  suffered  in  the  rear. 
He  had  received  kicks  and  cuffs  from  all  sides, 
during  the  tumult;  for  every  one  took  the  op- 
portunity of  slyly  gratifying  some  lurking  grudge 
on  his  faC  carcass.  He  was  a  discreet  man,  and 
did  not  choose  to  declare  war  with  all  his  com- 
pany ;  so  he  swore  all  those  kicks  and  cuffs  had 
been  given  by  me,  and  I  let  hi  en  enjoy  the  opi- 
nion. Some  wounds  he  bore,  however,  which 
were  the  incontestible  traces  of  a  woman's  war- 
fare. His  sleek  rosy  cheek  was  scored  by  trick- 
ling furrows,  which  were  ascribed  to  the  nails  of 
my  intrepid  and  devoted  Columbine.  The  ire  of 
the  monarch  was  not  to  be  appeased.  He  had 
suffered  in  his  person,  and  he  had  suffered  in  his 
purse ;  his  dignity  too  had  been  insulted,  and  that 


YOUNG  MAN  OP  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   117 

went  for  something  :  tor  dignity  is  always  more 
irascible  the  more  petty  the  potentate*  He 
wreaked  his  wrath  upon  the  beginners  of  the  af- 
fray, and  Columbine  and  myself  were  discharg- 
ed, at  once,  from  the  company. 

Figure  me,  then,  to  yourself,  a  stripling  of  lit* 
tie  more  than  sixteen  ;  a  gentleman  by  birth ;  a 
vagabond  by  trade  ;  turned  adrift  upon  the  \ 
making  the  (test  of  my  way  through  the  crowd  of 
West  End  rair ;  my  mountebank  dress  flutter  i 
in  rags  about  me ;  the  weeping  Columbine  hang- 
ing upon  my  arm,  in  splendid,  but  tattered  finery; 
the  tears  coursing  one  by  one  down  her  face ; 
carrying  off  the  red  paint  in  torrents,  and  literal- 
ly "  preying  upon  her  damask  cheek." 

The  crowd  made  way  for  us  as  we  passed  and 
hooted  in  our  rear.  1  felt  the  ridicule  of  my  si- 
tuation, but  had  too  much  gallantry  to  desert  this 
fair  one,  who  had  sacrificed  every  thing  for  me, 
Having  wandered  through  the  fair,  we  emerged, 
like  another  Adam  and  Eve,  into  unknown  re- 
gions, and  u  had  the  world  before  us  where  to 
choose."  Never  was  a  more  disconsolate  pair 
.  16 


118  feUCKTHOKNE,  OR  TH<E 

seen  in  the  soft  valley  of  West  End.  The  luck- 
less Columbine  cast  back  many  a  lingering  look 
at  the  fair,  which  seemed  to  put  on  a  more  than 
usual  splendour  ;  its  tents,  and  booths,  and  parti- 
coloured groups,  all  brightening  in  the  sunshine, 
and  gleaming  among  the  trees ;  and  its  gay  flags 
and  streamers  playing  and  fluttering  in  the  light 
summer  airs,  With  a  heavy  sigh  she  would  lean 
on  my  arm  and  proceed.  I  had  no  hope  or  con- 
solation to  give  her ;  but  she  had  linked  herself 
to  my  fortunes,  and  she  was  too  much  of  a  wo- 
man to  desert  me. 

Pensive  and  silent,  then,  we  traversed  the  beau- 
tiful fields  that  lie  behind  Hempstead,  and  wan- 
dered on,  until  the  fiddle,  and  the  hautboy,  and 
the  shout,  and  the  laugh,  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  deep  sound  of  the  big  bass  drum,  and  even 
that  died  away  into  a  distant  rumble.  We  pass- 
ed along  the  pleasant  sequestered  walk  of  Night- 
ingale lane.  For  a  pair  of  lovers  what  scene 
could  be  more  propitious  ? — But  such  a  pair  of 
lovers !  Not  a  nightingale  sang  to  soothe  us : 
the  very  gypsies  who  were  encamped  there  du- 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPfiCTATIONS.       119 

ring  the  fair  made  no  offer  to  tell  the  fortunes  of 
such  an  ill-omened  couple,  whose  fortunes,  I 
suppose,  they  thought  too  legibly  written  to  need 
an  interpreter ;  and  the  gypsey  children  crawled 
into  their  cabins  and  peeped  out  fearfully  at  us 
as  we  went  by.  For  a  moment  I  paused,  and 
was  almost  tempted  to  turn  gypsey,  but  the 
poetical  feeling  for  the  present  was  fully  satisfied, 
and  I  passed  on.  Thus  we  travelled,  and  tra- 
velled, like  a  prince  and  princess  in  nursery  chro- 
nicle, until  we  had  traversed  a  part  of  Hempstead 
Heath  and  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Jack  Straw's 
castle. 

Here,  wearied  and  dispirited  we  seated  our- 
selves on  the  margin  of  the  hill,  hard  by  the  very 
mile  stone  where  Whittington  of  yore  heard  the 
Bow  bells  ring  out  the  presage  of  his  future  great- 
ness. Alas !  no  bell  rung  an  invitation  to  us,  as 
we  looked  disconsolately  upon  the  distant  city. 
Old  London  seemed  to  wrap  itself  up  unsociably 
in  its  mantle  of  brown  smoke,  and  to  offer  no  en- 
couragement to  such  a  couple  of  tatterdemalions. 

For  once  at  least  the  usual  course  of  the  pan- 


120  BUCKTHORNE,  0R  THE 

tomime  was  reversed.  Harlequin  was  jilted,  and 
the  lover  had  carried  off  Columbine  in  good  ear- 
nest. But  what  was  I  to  do  with  her  ?  I  had 
never  contemplated  such  a  dilemma ;  and  I  now 
felt  that  even  a  fortunate  lover  may  be  embar- 
rassed by  his  good  fortune.  I  really  knew  not 
what  was  to  become  of  me  ;  for  I  had  still  the 
boyish  fear  of  returning  home ;  standing  in  awe 
of  the  stern  temper  of  my  father,  and  dreading 
the  ready  arm  of  the  pedagogue.  And  even  if  I 
were  to  venture  home,  what  was  I  to  do  with 
Columbine  ?  I  could  not  take  her  in  my  hand, 
xind  throw  myself  on  my  knees,  and  crave  his 
forgiveness  and  his  blessing  according  to  drama- 
tic usage.  The  very  dogs  would  have  chased 
such  a  draggle-tailed  beauty  from  the  grounds. 

In  the  midst  of  my  doleful  dumps,  some  one 
tapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  looking  up  I  saw 
a  couple  of  rough  sturdy  fellows  standing  behind 
me.  Not  knowing  what  to  expect  I  jumped  on 
my  legs,  and  was  preparing  again  to  make  bat- 
tle ;  but  I  was  tripped  up  and  secured  in  a  twink- 
ling. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  121 

"  Come,  come,  young  master,"  said  one  of  the 
fellows  in  a  gruff,  but  good  humoured  tone, 
"  don't  let's  have  any  of  your  tantrums;  one  would 
have  thought  you  had  had  swing  enough  for  this 
bout.  Come,  it's  high  time  to  leave  off  harle- 
quinading,  and  go  home  to  your  father." 

In  fact  I  had  a  couple  of  Bow  street  officers 
hold  of  me.  The  cruel  Sacharissa  had  proclaim- 
ed who  I  was,  and  that  a  reward  had  been  of- 
fered throughout  the  country  for  any  tidings  of 
me ;  and  they  had  seen  a  description  of  me  which 
had  been  forwarded  to  the  police  office  in  town. 
Those  harpies,  therefore,  for  the  mere  sake  of 
filthy  lucre,  were  resolved  to  deliver  me  over 
into  the  hands  of  my  father  and  the  clutches  of 
my  pedagogue. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  swore  I  would  not  leave 
my  faithful  and  afflicted  Columbine.  It  was 
in  vain  that  I  tore  myself  from  their  grasp,  and 
flew  to  her  ;  and  vowed  to  protect  her ;  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheek,  and  with  them 
a  whole  blush  that  might  have  vied  with  the 
carnation  for  brilliancy.  My  persecutors  were 


122  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

inflexible ;  they  even  seemed  to  exult  in  our  dis- 
tress ;  and  to  enjoy  this  theatrical  display  of 
dirt,  and  finery,  and  tribulation.  I  was  carried 
off  in  despair,  leaving  my  Columbine  destitute 
in  the  wide  world ;  but  many  a  look  of  agonj 
did  I  cast  back  at  her,  as  she  stood  gazing  pi- 
teously  after  me  from  the  brink  of  Hempstead 
Hill ;  so  forlorn,  so  fine,  so  ragged,  so  bedraggled, 
yet  so  beautiful. 

Thus  ended  my  first  peep  into  the  world.  I 
returned  home,  rich  in  good-for-nothing  experi- 
ence, and  dreading  the  reward  I  was  to  receive 
for  my  improvement.  My  reception,  however, 
was  quite  different  from  what  I  had  expected. 
My  fathe,r  had  a  spice  of  the  devil  in  him,  and 
did  not  seem  to  like  me  the  worse  for  my  freak, 
which  he  termed  "  sewing  my  wild  oats."  He 
happened  to  have  several  of  his  sporting  friends 
to  dine  with  him  the  very  day  of  my  return;  they 

made  me  tell  some  of  my  adventures,  and  laugh- 

j 

ed  heartily  at  them.  One  old  fellow,  with  an 
outrageously  red  nose,  took  to  me  hugely.  I 
heard  him  whisper  to  my  father  that  I  was  a  lad 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   123 

of  mettle,  and  might  make  something  clever  ;  to 
which  my  father  replied  that  "  I  had  good  points, 
bur  was  an  ill  broken  whelp,  and  required  a 
great  deal  of  the  whip."  Perhaps  this  very  con- 
versation raised  me  a  little  in  his  esteem,  for  I 
found  the  red-nosed  old  gentleman  was  a  vete- 
ran fox  hunter  of  the  neighbourhood,  for  whose 
opinion  my  father  had  vast  deference.  Indeed, 
I  believe  he  would  have  pardoned  any  thing  in 
me  more  readily  than  poetry ;  which  he  called  a 
cursed,  sneaking,  puling,  housekeeping  employ- 
ment, the  bane  of  all  true  manhood.  He  swore  it 
was  unworthy  of  a  youngster  of  my  expectations, 
who  was  one  day  to  have  so  great  an  estate,  and 
would  be  able  to  keep  horses  and  hounds  and 
hire  poets  to  write  songs  for  him  into  the  bar- 


gain. 


I  had  now  satisfied,  for  a  time,  my  roving  pro- 
pensity. I  had  exhausted  the  poetical  feeling. 
I  had  been  heartily  buffeted  out  of  my  love  for 
theatrical  display.  I  felt  humiliated  by  my  ex- 
posure, and  was  willing  to  hide  my  head  any 
where  for  a  season ;  so  that  I  might  be  out  of  the 


124  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

way  of  the  ridicule  of  the  world  ;  for  I  found 
folks  not  altogether  so  indulgent  abroad,  as  they 
were  at  my  father's  table.     I  could  not  stay  at 
home ;  thp  house  was  intolerably  doleful  now 
that  my  mother  was  no  longer  there  to  cherish 
me.     Every  thing  around  spoke  mournfully  of 
her.     The  little  flower-garden  in  which  she  de- 
lighted, was  all  in  disorder  and  overrun  with 
weeds.     I  attempted,  for  a  day  or  two,  to  ar- 
range it,  but  my  heart  grew  heavier  and  heavier 
as  I  laboured.     Every  little  broken  down  flower, 
that  I  had  seen  her  rear  so  tenderly,  seemed  to 
plead  in  mute  eloquence  to  my  feelings.     There 
was  a  favourite  honeysuckle  which  I  had  seen 
her  often  training  with  assiduity,  and  had  heard 
her  say  it  should  be  the  pride  of  her  garden.     I 
found  it  grovelling  along  the  ground,  tangled  and 
wild,  and  twining  round  every  worthless  weed, 
and  it  struck  me  as  an  emblem  of  myself :  a  mere 
scatterling,  running  to  waste  and  uselessness.     I 
could  work  no  longer  in  the  garden. 

My  father  sent  me  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  uncle, 
by  way  of  keeping  the  old  gentleman  in  mind  of 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   125 

me.  I  was  received,  as  usual,  without  any  ex- 
pression of  discontent ;  which  we  always  consi- 
dered equivalent  to  a  hearty  welcome.  Whether 
he  had  ever  heard  of  my  strolling  freak  or  not  I 
could  not  discover  ;  he  and  his  man  were  both  so 
taciturn.  I  spent  a  day  or  two  roaming  about 
the  dreary  mansion  and  neglected  park ;  and 
felt  at  one  time,  I  believe,  a  touch  of  poetry,  for 
I  was  tempted  to  drown  myself  in  a  fish-pond ; 
I  rebuked  the  evil  spirit,  however,  and  it  left  me. 
I  found  the  same  red-headed  boy  running  wild 
about  the  park,  but  I  felt  in  no  humour  to  hunt 
him  at  present.  On  the  contrary,  I  tried  to  coax 
him  to  me,  and  to  make  friends  with  him,  but  the 
young  savage  was  untameable. 

When  I  returned  from  my  uncle's  I  remained 
at  home  for  some  time,  for  my  father  was  dispo- 
sed, he  said,  to  make  a  man  of  me.  He  took  me 
out  hunting  with  him,  and  I  became  a  great  fa- 
vourite of  the  red-nosed  squire,  because  I  rode  at 
every  thing  ;  never  refused  the  boldest  leap,  and 
was  always  sure  to  be  in  at  the  death.  I  used 
often,  however,  to  offend  my  father  at  hunting 

PART  II.  17 


126  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

dinners,  by  taking  the  wrong  side  in  politics. 
My  father  was  amazingly  ignorant — so  ignorant 
in  fact,  as  not  to  know  that  he  knew  nothing. 
He  was  staunch,  however,  to  church  and  king, 
and  full  of  old-fashioned  prejudices.  Now,  I  had 
picked  up  a  little  knowledge  in  politics  and  reli- 
gion, during  my  rambles  with  the  strollers,  and 
found  myself  capable  of  setting  him  right  as  to 
many  of  his  antiquated  notions.  I  felt  it  my  du- 
ty to  do  so ;  we  were  apt,  therefore,  to  differ  oc- 
casionally in  the  political  discussions  that  some- 
times arose  at  these  hunting  dinners. 

I  was  at  that  age  when  a  man  knows  least  and 
is  most  vain  of  his  knowledge ;  and  when  he  is 
extremely  tenacious  in  defending  his  opinion  up- 
on subjects  about  which  he  knows  nothing.  My 
father  was  a  hard  man  for  any  one  to  argue  with, 
for  he  never  knew  when  he  was  refuted.  I 
sometimes  posed  him  a  little,  but  then  he  had  one 
argument  that  always  settled  the  question ;  he 
would  threaten  to  knock  me  down.  I  believe 
he  at  last  grew  tired  of  me,  because  I  both  out- 
talked  and  outrode  him.  The  red-nosed  squire, 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   127 

too,  got  out  of  conceit  of  me,  because  in  the  heat 
of  the  chase,  I  rode  over  him  one  day  as  he  and 
his  horse  lay  sprawling  in  the  dirt.  My  father, 
therefore,  thought  it  high  time  to  send  me  to  col- 
lege ;  and  accordingly  to  Trinity  College  at  Ox- 
ford was  I  sent. 

I  had  lost  my  habits  of  study  while  at  home; 
and  I  was  not  likely  to  find  them  again  at  col- 
lege.    I  found  that  study  was  not  the  fashion  at 
college,  and  that  a  lad  of  spirit  only  ate  his  terms ; 
and  grew  wise  bjf  dint  of  knife  and  fork.     I  was 
always  prone  to  follow  the  fashions  of  the  com- 
pany into  which  1  fell ;  so  I  threw  by  my  books, 
and  became  a  man  of  spirit.     As  my  father  made 
me  a  tolerable  allowance,  notwithstanding  the 
narrowness  of  his  income,  having  an  eye  always 
to  my  great  expectations,  I  was  enabled  to  appear 
to  advantage  among  my  fellow  students.     I  cul- 
tivated all  kinds  of  sports  and  exercises.     I  was 
one  of  the  most  expert  oarsmen  that  rowed  on- 
the  Isis.     I  boxed,  and  fenced.     I  was  a  keen 
huntsman,  and  my  chambers  in  college  were  al- 
ways decorated  \yith  whips  of  all  kinds,  spars, 


128  BUGKTHORNE,  OR  THlfc 

foils,  and  boxing  gloves.  A  pair  of  leather 
breeches  would  seem  to  be  throwing  one  leg  out 
of  the  half  open  drawers,  and  empty  bottles  lum- 
bered the  bottom  of  every  closet. 

I  soon  grew  tired  of  this ;  and  relapsed  into 
my  vein  of  mere  poetical  indulgence.  I  was 
charmed  with  Oxford,  for  it  was  full  of  poetry 
to  me.  I  thought  I  should  never  grow  tired  of 
wandering  about  its  courts  and  cloisters;  arid 
visiting  the  different  college  halls.  I  used  to 
love  to  get  in  places  surrounded  by  the  colleges, 
where  all  modern  buildings  were  screened  from 
the  sight ;  and  to  walk  about  them  in  twilight, 
and  see  the  professors  and  students  sweeping 
along  in  the  dusk  in  their  caps  and  gowns. 
There  was  complete  delusion  in  the  scene.  It 
seemed  to  transport  me  among  the  edifices  and 
the  people  of  old  times.  It  was  a  great  luxury, 
too,  for  me  to  attend  the  evening  service  in  the 
new  college  chapel,  and  to  hear  the  fine  organ 
and  the  choir  swelling  an  anthem  in  that  solemn 
building ;  where  painting  and  music  and  archi- 
tecture seem  to  combine  their  grandest  effects. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  129 

I  became  a  loiterer,  also,  about  the  Bodleian 
library,  and  a  great  dipper  into  books  ;  but  too 
idle  to  follow  any  course  of  study  or  vein  of  re* 
search.  One  of  my  favourite  haunts  was  the 
beautiful  walk,  bordered  by  lofty  elms,  along 
the  Isis,  under  the  old  gray  walls  of  Magdalen 
College,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  Addison's 
Walk ;  and  was  his  resort  when  a  student  at  the 
college.  I  used  to  take  a  volume  of  poetry  in 
my  hand,  and  stroll  up  and  down  this  walk  for 
hours. 

My  father  came  to  see  me  at  college.  He  ask* 
ed  me  how  I  came  on  with  my  studies ;  and 
what  kind  of  hunting  there  was  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. He  examined  my  sporting  apparatus ; 
wanted  to  know  if  any  of  the  professors  were 
fox  hunters ;  and  whether  they  were  generally 
good  shots ;  for  he  suspected  this  reading  so 
much  was  rather  hurtful  to  the  sight.  Such  was 
the  only  person  to  whom  I  was  responsible  for 
my  improvement :  is  it  matter  of  wonder,  there- 
fore, that  I  became  a  confirmed  idler  ? 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  cannot  be  idle 


130  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

Jong  without  getting  in  love.  I  became  deeply 
smitten  with  a  shopkeeper's  daughter  in  the  high 
street;  who  in  fact  was  the  admiration  of  many 
of  the  students.  I  wrote  several  sonnets  in  praise 
of  her,  and  spent  half  of  my  pocket  money  at 
the  shop,  in  buying  articles  which  I  did  not  want, 
that  I  might  have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to 
her.  Her  father,  a  severe  looking  old  gentleman, 
with  bright  silver  buckles  and  a  crisp  curled  wig, 
kept  a  strict  guard  on  her ;  as  the  fathers  gene- 
rally do  upon  their  daughters  in  Oxford  ;  and 
well  they  may.  I  tried  to  get  into  his  good  gra- 
ces, and  to  be  sociable  with  him ;  but  in  vain. 
I  said  several  good  things  in  his  shop,  but  he 
never  laughed  ;  he  had  no  relish  for  wit  and  hu- 
mour. He  was  one  of  those  dry  old  gentlemea 
who  keep  youngsters  at  bay.  He  had  already 
brought  up  two  or  three  daughters,  and  was  ex- 
perienced in  the  ways  of  students.  He  was  as 
knowing  and  wary  as  a  gray  old  badger  that  has 
often  been  hunted.  To  see  him  on  Sunday,  so 
stiff  and  starched  in  his  demeanour ;  so  precise 
in  his  dress  ;  with  his  daughter  under  his  arm, 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   131 

and  his  ivory-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  was 
enough  to  deter  all  graceless  youngsters  from 
approaching. 

I  managed,  however,  in  spite  of  his  vigilance, 
to  have  several  conversations  with  the  daughter, 
as  I  cheapened  articles  in  the  shop.  I  made 
terrible  long  bargains,  and  examined  the  articles 
over  and  over,  before  I  purchased.  In  the  mean 
time,  I  would  convey  a  sonnet  or  an  acrostic 
under  cover  of  a  piece  of  cambric,  or  slipped 
into  a  pair  of  stockings ;  I  would  whisper  soft 
nonsense  into  her  ear  as  I  haggled  about  the 
price  ;  and  would  squeeze  her  hand  tenderly  as 
I  received  my  halfpence  of  change,  in  a  bit  of 
whity-brown  paper.  Let  this  serve  as  a  hint  to 
all  haberdashers,  who  have  pretty  daughters  for 
shop  girls,  and  young  students  for  customers.  I 
do  not  know  whether  my  words  and  looks  were 
very  eloquent ;  but  my  poetry  was  irresistible  ; 
for,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  girl  had  -some  literary 
taste,  and  was  seldom  without  a  book  from  the 
circulating  library. 

By  the  divine  power  of  poetry,  therefore, 


132  JBUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

which  is  irresistible  with  the  lovely  sex,  did  I 
subdue  the  heart  of  this  fair  little  haberdasher. 
We  carried  on  a  sentimental  correspondence  for 
a  time  across  the  counter,  and  1  supplied  her 
with  rhyme  by  the  stocking  full.  At  length  I 
prevailed  on  her  to  grant  me  an  assignation. 
But  how  was  it  to  be  effected  ?  Her  father  kept 
her  always  under  his  eye  ;  she  never  walked  out 
alone  ;  and  the  house  was  locked  up  the  moment 
that  the  shop  was  shut.  All  these  difficulties 
served  but  to  give  zest  to  the  adventure.  I  pro- 
posed that  the  assignation  should  be  in  her  own 
chamber,  into  which  I  would  climb  at  night. 
The  plan  was  irresistible.  A  cruel  father,  a 
secret  lover,  and  a  clandestine  meeting !  All  the 
little  girl's  studies  from  the  circulating  library 
seemed  about  to  be  realized.  But  what  had  I 
in  view  in  making  this  assignation  ?  Indeed  I 
know  not.  I  had  no  evil  intentions  ;  nor  can  I 
say  that  I  had  any  good  ones.  I  liked  the  girl, 
and  wanted  to  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
more  of  her  ;  and  the  assignation  was  made,  as 
I  have  done  many  things  else,  heedlessly  and 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  133 

without  forethought.  I  asked  myself  a  few  ques- 
tions of  the  kind,  after  all  my  arrangements  were 
made ;  but  the  answers' were  very  unsatisfactory. 
"  Am  I  to  ruin  this  poor  thoughtless  girl  ?"  said 
I  to  myself.  "  No  !"  was  the  prompt  and  in- 
dignant answer.  "  Am  I  to  run  away  with  her  ?" 
"  Whither — and  to  what  purpose  ?"  "  Well,  then, 

am  1  to  marry  her  ?" "  Pah  !   a  man  of  my 

expectations  marry  a  shopkeeper's  daughter !" 
"  What  then  am  I  to  do  with  her  ?"  "  Hum- 
why Let  me  get  into  her  chamber  first,  and 

then  consider" — and  so  the  self  examination, 
ended. 

Well,  sir,  "  come  what  come  might,"  I  stole 
under  cover  of  the  darkness  to  the  dwelling  of 
my  dulcinea.  All  was  quiet.  At  the  concerted 
signal  her  window  was  gently  opened.  It  was 
just  above  the  projecting  bow  window  of  her  fa- 
ther's shop,  which  assisted  me  in  mounting.  The 
house  was  low,  and  I  was  enabled  to  scale  the 
fortress  with  tolerable  ease.  I  clambered  with  a 
beating  heart ;  I  reached  the  casement ;  I  hoist- 
ed my  body  half  into  the  chamber  and  was  wel- 

PA&T  II.  18 


134  BUCKTHORNS,  OR   THE 

corned,  not  by  the  embraces  of  my  expecting  fair 
one,  but  by  the  grasp  of  the  crabbed-looking  old 
father  in  the  crisp  curled  'wig. 

I  extricated  myself  from  his  clutches  and  en- 
deavoured to  make  my  retreat ;  but  I  was  con- 
founded by  his  cries  of  thieves!  and  robbers! 
I  was  bothered  too  by  his  Sunday  cane ;  which 
was  amazingly  busy  about  my  head  as  I  descend- 
ed ;  and  against  which  my  hat  was  but  a  poor 
protection.  Never  before  had  1  an  idea  of  the 
activity  of  an  old  man's  arm,  and  hardness  of  the 
knob  of  an  ivory-headed  cane.  In  my  hurry  and 
confusion  I  missed  my  footing,  and  fell  sprawling 
on  the  pavement.  I  was  immediately  surround- 
ed by  myrmidons,  who  I  doubt  not  were  on  the 
watch  for  me.  Indeed,  I  was  in  no  situation  to 
escape,  for  I  had  sprained  my  ankle  in  the  fall, 
and  could  not  stand.  I  was  seized  as  a  house- 
breaker ;  and  to  exonerate  myself  from  a  greater 
crime  I  had  to  accuse  myself  of  a  less.  I  made 
known  who  I  was,  and  why  I  came  there.  Alas! 
the  varlets  knew  it  already,  and  were  only  amu- 
sing themselves  at  my  expense.  My  perfidious 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   135 

muse  had  been  playing  me  one  of  her  slippery 
tricks.  The  old  curmudgeon  of  a  father  had 
found  my  sonnets  and  acrostics  hid  away  in  holes 
and  corners  of  his  shop ;  he  had  no  taste  for 
poetry  like  his  daughter,  and  had  instituted  a 
rigorous  though  silent  observation.  He  had 
moused  upon  our  letters ;  detected  the  ladder  of 
ropes,  and  prepared  every  thing  for  my  reception. 
Thus  was  I  ever  doomed  to  be  led  into  scrapes 
by  the  muse.  Let  no  man  henceforth  carry  on 
a  secret  amour  in  poetry  ! 

The  old  man's  ire  was  in  some  measure  ap- 
peased by  the  pummelling  of  my  head,  and  the 
anguish  of  my  sprain ;  so  he  did  not  put  me  to 
death  on  the  spot.  He  was  even  humane  enough 
to  furnish  a  shutter,  on  which  I  was  carried  back 
to  college  like  a  wounded  warrior.  The  porter 
was  roused  to  admit  me ;  the  college  gate  was 
thrown  open  for  my  entry ;  the  affair  was  blazed 
abroad  the  next  morning,  and  became  the  joke 
of  the  college  from  the  buttery  to  the  hall. 

I  had  leisure  to  repent  during  several  weeks 
confinement  by  my  sprain,  which  I  passed  in 


166  BUCKTHORNS,  OR  THE 

translating  Boethius'  Consolations  of  Philosophy, 
I  received  a  most  tender  and  ill-spelled  letter  from 
my  mistress,  who  had  been  sent  to  a  relation  in 
Coventry.  She  protested  her  innocence  of  my 
misfortunes,  and  vowed  to  be  true  to  me  "  till 
death."  I  took  no  notice  of  the  letter,  for  I  was 
cured,  for  the  present,  both  of  love  and  poetry. 
Women,  however,  are  more  consrant  in  their  at- 
tachments than  men,  whatever  philosophers  may 
say  to  the  contrary.  I  am  assured  that  she  ac- 
tually remained  faithful  to  her  vow  for  several 
months ;  but  she  had  to  deal  with  a  cruel  father 
whose  heart  was  as  hard  as  the  knob  of  his  cane. 
He  was  not  to  be  touched  by  tears  or  poetry ; 
but  absolutely  compelled  her  to  marry  a  reputa- 
ble young  tradesman  ;  who  made  her  a  happy 
woman  in  spite  of  herself,  and  of  all  the  rules  of 
romance ;  and  what  is  more,  the  mother  of  seve- 
ral children.  They  are  at  this  very  day  a  thri- 
ving couple,  and  keep  a  snug  corner  shop,  just 
opposite  the  figure  of  Peeping  Tom  at  Coventry. 
I  will  not  fatigue  you  by  any  more  details  of 
my  studies  at  Oxford,  though  they  were  not  al- 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   137 

ways  as  severe  as  these  ;  nor  did  I  always  pay 
as  dear  for  my  lessons.  People  may  say  what 
they  please,  a  studious  life  has  its  charms,  and 
there  are  many  places  more  gloomy  than  the 
cloisters  of  a  university. 

To  be  brief,  then,  I  lived  on  in  my  usual  mis- 
cellaneous manner,  gradually  getting  a  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil,  until  I  had  attained  my  twenty- 
first  year.  I  had  scarcely  come  of  age  when  I 
heard  of  the  sudden  death  of  my  father.  The 
shock  was  severe,  for  though  he  had  never  treat- 
ed me  with  kindness,  still  he  was  my  father,  and 

at  his  death  I  felt  myself  alone  in  the  world. 

• 

I  returned  home  to  act  as  chief  mourner  at 
his  funeral.  It  was  attended  by  many  of  the 
sportsmen  of  the  county  ;  for  he  was  an  impor- 
tant member  of  their  fraternity.  According  to  his 
request  his  favourite  hunter  was  led  after  the 
hearse.  The  red-nosed  fox  hunter,  who  had 
taken  a  little  too  much  wine  at  the  house,  made 
a  maudlin  eulogy  of  the  deceased,  and  wished  to 
give  the  view  halloo  over  the  grave ;  but  he  was 
rebuked  by  the  rest  of  the  company.  They  all 


138  BUCKTHORNS,  OR  THE 

shook  me  kindly  by  the  hand,  said  many  conso- 
latory things  to  me,  and  invited  me  to  become 
a  member  of  the  hunt  in  my  father's  place. 

When  I  found  myself  alone  in  my  paternal 
home,  a  crowd  of  gloomy  feelings  came  throng- 
ing upon  me.  It  was  a  place  that  always  seem- 
ed to  sober  me,  and  bring  me  to  reflection. 
Now  especially,  it  looked  so  deserted  and  me- 
lancholy; the  furniture  displaced  about  the  room; 
the  chairs  in  groups,  as  their  departed  occupants 
had  sat,  either  in  whispering  tete-a-tetes,  or 
gossipping  clusters  ;  the  bottles  and  decanters  and 
wine  glasses,  half  emptied,  and  scattered  about 
the  tables — all  dreary  traces  of  a  funeral  festival. 
I  entered  the  little  breakfasting  room.  There 
were  my  father's  whip  and  spurs  hanging  .by 
the  fire-place,  and  his  favourite  pointer  lying  on 
the  hearth  rug.  The  poor  animal  came  fondling 
about  me,  and  licked  my  hand,  though  he  had 
never  before  noticed  me  ;  and  then  he  looked 
round  the  room,  and  whined,  and  wagged  his 
tail  slightly,  and  gazed  wistfully  in  my  face.  I 
felt  the  full  force  of  the  appeal.  "  Poor  Dash  !5? 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  139 

said  I,  "  we  are  both  alone  in  the  world,  with 
nobody  to  care  for  us,  and  we'll  take  care  of  one 
another."  The  dog  never  quitted  me  after- 
wards. 

I  could  not  go  into  my  mother's  room  :  my 
heart  swelled  when  I  passed  within  sight  of  the 
door.  Her  portrait  hung  in  the  parlour,  just 
over  the  place  where  she  used  to  sit.  As  I  cast 
my  eyes  on  it  I  thought  it  looked  at  me  with  ten- 
derness, and  I  burst  into  tears.  My  heart  had 
long  been  seared  by  living  in  public  schools,  and 
buffetting  about  among  strangers  who  cared 
nothing  for  me  ;  but  the  recollection  of  a  mo- 
ther's tenderness  was  overcoming. 

I  was  not  of  an  age  or  a  temperament  to  be 
long  depressed.  There  was  a  reaction  in  my 
system  that  always  brought  me  up  again  after 
every  pressure  ;  and  indeed  my  spirits  were 
most  buoyant  after  a  temporary  prostration.  I 
settled  the  concerns  of  the  estate  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible ;  realized  my  property,  which  was  not  very 
considerable  ;  but  which  appeared  a  vast  deal  to 
me,  having  a  poetical  eye  that  magnified  every 


140  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

thing ;  and  finding  myself  at  the  end  of  a  few 
months,  free  of  all  farther  business  or  restraint, 
I  determined  to  go  to  London  and  enjoy  myself. 
Why  should  not  I  ? — I  was  young,  animated, 
joyous  ;  had  plenty  of  funds  for  present  plea- 
sures, and  my  uncle's  estate  in  the  perspective. 
Let  those  mope  at  college  and  pore  over  books, 
thought  I,  who  have  their  way  to  make  in  the 
world  ;  it  would  be  ridiculous  drudgery  in  a 
youth  of  my  expectations. 

Well,  sir,  away  to  London  I  rattled  in  a  tan*- 
dem,  determined  to  take  the  town  gayly.  I 
passed  through  several  of  the  villages  where  I 
had  played  the  jack-pudding  a  few  years  before  ; 
and  I  visited  the  scenes  of  many  of  my  adven- 
tures and  follies,  merely  from  that  feeling  of  me- 
lancholy pleasure  which  we  have  in  stepping 
again  in  the  footprints  of  foregone  existence,  even 
when  they  have  passed  among  weeds  and  briars. 
I  made  a  circuit  in  the  latter  part  of  my  journey, 
so  as  to  take  in  West  End  and  Hempstead,  the 
scenes  of  my  last  dramatic  exploit,  and  of  the 
battle  royal  of  the  booth.  As  I  drove  along 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  141 

the  ridge  of  Hempstead  Hill,  by  Jack  Straw's 
castle,  I  paused  at  the  spot  where  Columbine 
and  I  had  sat  down  so  disconsolately  in  our  rag- 
ged finery,  and  looked  dubiously  upon  London, 
I  almost  expected  to  see  her  again,  standing  on 
the  hill's  brink,  "  like  Niobe  all  tears  ;" — mourn- 
ful as  Babylon  in  ruins ! 

"  Poor  Columbine !"  said  I,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
"  thou  wert  a  gallant,  generous  girl — a  true  wo- 
man, faithful  to  the  distressed,  and  ready  to  sa- 
crifice thyself  in  the  cause  of  worthless  man  !" 
I  tried  to  whistle  off  the  recollection  of  her ; 
for  there  was  always  something  of  self-reproach 
with  it.     1  drove  gayly  along  the  road,  enjoying 
the  stare  of  hostlers  and  stable  boys  as  I  managed 
my  horses  knowingly  down  the  steep  street  of 
Hempstead  ;  when,  just  at  the  skirts  of  the  vil- 
lage, one  of  the  traces  of  my  leader  came  loose. 
I  pulled  up ;  and  as  the  animal  was  restive  and 
my  servant  a  bungler,  I  called  for  assistance  to 
the  robustious  master  of  a  snug  ale  house,  who 
stood  at  his  door  with  a  tankard  in  his  hand*  He 
came  readily  to  assist  me,  followed  by  his  wife 
PART  II.  J9 


142  BUCKTHORNE,  Oil  THE 

witjj  her  bosom  half  open,  a  child  in  her  arms, 
and  two  more  at  her  heels.  I  stared  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  doubting  my  eyes.  I  could  not  be 
mistaken  ;  in  the  fat  beer-blown  landlord  of  the 
ale  house  I  recognized  my  old  rival  Harlequin, 
and  in  his  slattern  spouse,  the  once  trim  and 
dimpling  Columbine. 

The  change  of  my  looks,  from  youth  to  man- 
hood, and  the  change  of  my  circumstances,  pre- 
vented them  from  recognizing  me.  They  could 
not  suspect,  in  the  dashing  young  buck,  fashiona- 
bly dressed,  and  driving  his  own  equipage,  their 
former  comrade,  the  painted  beau,  with  old 
peaked  hat  and  long,  flimsy,  sky  blue  coat. 
My  heart  yearned  with  kindness  towards  Colum- 
bine, and  I  was  glad  to  see  her  establishment  a 
thriving  one.  As  soon  as  the  harness  was  ad- 
justed I  tossed  a  small  purse  of  gold  into  her 
ample  bosom ;  and  then,  pretending  to  give  my 
horses  a  hearty  cut  of  the  whip,  I  made  the  lash 
curl  with  a  whistling  about  the  sleek  sides  of 
ancient  Harlequin.  The  horses  dashed  off  like 
lightning,  and  I  was  whirled  out  of  sight,  before 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.  143 

either  of  the  parties  could  get  over  their  surprise 
at  my  liberal  donations.  I  have  always  consider- 
ed this  as  one  of  the  greatest  proofs  of  my  poeti- 
cal genius.  It  was  distributing  poetical  justice 
in  perfection. 

I  now  entered  London  en  cavalier,  and  be- 
came a  blood  upon  town.  I  took  fashionable 
lodgings  in  the  West  End ;  employed  the  first 
tailor ;  frequented  the  regular  lounges ;  gam- 
bled a  little  ;  lost  my  money  good  humouredly, 
and  gained  a  number  of  fashionable  good-for- 
nothing  acquaintances.  Had  I  had  more  indus- 
try and  ambition  in  my  nature,  I  might  have 
worked  my  way  to  the  very  height  of  fashion, 
as  I  saw  many  laborious  gentlemen  doing  around 
me.  But  it  is  a  toilsome,  an  anxious,  and  an 
unhappy  life ;  there  are  few  beings  so  sleepless 
and  miserable  as  your  cultivators  of  fashionable 
smiles. 

I  was  quite  content  with  that  kind  of  society 
which  forms  the  frontiers  of  fashion,  and  may 
be  easily  taken  possession  of.  I  found  it  a  light, 
easy,  productive  soil.  I  had  but  to  go  about  and 


144  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

sow  visiting  cards,  and  I  reaped  a  whole  harvest 
of  invitations.  Indeed,  my  figure  and  address 
were  by  no  means  against  me.  It  was  whisper- 
ed, too,  among  the  young  ladies,  that  I  was  pro- 
digiously clever,  and  wrote  poetry ;  and  the  old 
ladies  had  ascertained  that  I  was  a  young  gentle- 
man of  good  family,  handsome  fortune,  and 
"  great  expectations." 

I  now  was  carried  away  by  the.  hurry  of  gay 
life,  so  intoxicating  to  a  young  man  ;  and  which 
a  man  of  poetical  temperament  enjoys  so  highly 
on  his  first  tasting  of  it.     That  rapid  variety  of 
sensations ;  that  whirl  of  brilliant  objects ;  that 
succession  of  pungent  pleasures.     I  had  no  time   ' 
for  thought ;  I  only  felt.     I  never  attempted  to 
write  poetry ;  my  poetry  seemed  all  to  go  off  by 
transpiration.      I  lived  poetry  ;  it  was  all  a  poeti-  * 
cal  dream  to  me.     A  mere  sensualist  knows  no- 
thing of  the  delights  of  a  splendid  metropolis.  He 
lives  in  a  round  of  animal   gratifications  and 
heartless  habits.     But  to  a  young  man  of  poeti- 
cal feelings  it  is  an  ideal  world ;  a  scene  of  en- 
chantment and  delusion ;  his  imagination  is  in 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   145 

perpetual  excitement,  and  gives  a  spiritual  zest 
to  every  pleasure. 

A  season  of  town  life  somewhat  sobered  me 
of  my  intoxication ;  or  rather  I  was  rendered 
more  serious  by  one  of  my  old  complaints — I  fell 
in  love.  It  was  with  a  very  pretty,  though  a 
very  haughty  fair  one,  who  had  come  to  London 
under  the  care  of  an  old  maiden  aunt,  to  enjoy  the 
pleasures  of  a  winter  in  town,  and  to  get  married. 
There  was  not  a  doubt  of  her  commanding  a 
choice  of  lovers  ;  for  she  had  long  been  the  belle 
of  a  little  cathedral  town ;  and  one  of  the  pre- 
bendaries had  absolutely  celebrated  her  beauty  in 
a  copy  of  Latin  verses. 

I  paid  my  court  to  her,  and  was  favourably  re- 
ceived both  by  her  and  her  aunt.  Nay,  I  had  a 
marked  preference  shown  me  over  the  younger 
son  of  a  needy  Baronet,  and  a  captain  of  dra- 
goons on  half  pay.  I  did  not  absolutely  take  the 
field  in  form,  for  I  was  determined  not  to  be  pre- 
cipitate ;  but  I  drove  my  equipage  frequently 
through  the  street  in  which  she  lived,  and  was 
always  sure  to  see  her  at  the  window,  generally 


146  BUCKTHORNS,  OR  THE 

with  a  book  in  her  hand.  I  resumed  my  knack 
at  rhyming,  and  sent  her  a  long  copy  of  verses; 
anonymously  to  be  sure  ;  but  she  knew  my  hand 
writing.  They  displayed,  however,  the  most  de- 
lightful ignorance  on  the  subject.  The  young 
lady  showed  them  to  me ;  wondered  who  they 
could  be  written  by ;  and  declared  there  was  no- 
thing in  this  world  she  loved  so  much  as  poetry  : 
while  the  maiden  aunt  would  put  her  pinching 
spectacles  on  her  nose,  and  read  them,  with  blun- 
ders in  sense  and  sound,  that  were  excruciating 
to  an  author's  ears ;  protesting  there  was  nothing 
equal  to  them  in  the  whole  elegant  extracts. 

The  fashionable  season  closed  without  my  ad- 
venturing to  make  a  declaration,  though  I  cer- 
tainly had  encouragement.  I  was  not  perfectly 
sure  that  I  had  effected  a  lodgement  in  the  young 
ladies  heart ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  aunt  over- 
did her  part,  and  was  a  little  too  extravagant  in 
her  liking  of  me.  I  knew  that  maiden  aunts 
were  not  apt  to  be  captivated  by  the  mere  per- 
sonal merits  of  their  nieces'  admirers,  and  I 
wanted  to  ascertain  how  much  of  all  this  favour 


YOUNQ  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   147 

I  owed  to  my  driving  an  equipage  and  having 
great  expectations. 

I  had  received  many  hints  how  charming  their 
native  town  was  during  the  summer  months; 
what  pleasant  society  they  had ;  and  what  beau- 
tiful drives  about  the  neighbourhood.  They  had 
not,  therefore,  returned  home  long,  before  I  made 
my  appearance  in  dashing  style,  driving  down 
the  principal  street.  It  is  an  easy  thing  to  put  a 
little  quiet  cathedral  town  in  a  buzz.  The  very 
next  morning  I  was  seen  at  prayers,  seated  in 
the  pew  of  the  reigning  belle.  All  the  congre- 
gation was  in  a  flutter.  The  prebends  eyed  me 
from  their  stalls  ;  questions  were  whispered  about 
the  aisles  after  service,  "  who  is  he  ?"  and  "  what 
is  he  ?"  and  the  replies  were  as  usual — a  A  young 
gentleman  of  good  family  and  fortune,  and  great 
expectations." 

I  was  pleased  with  the  peculiarities  of  a  ca- 
thedral town,  where  I  found  I  was  a  personage 
of  some  consequence.  I  was  quite  a  brilliant 
acquisition  to  the  young  ladies  of  the  cathedral 
circle,  who  were  glad  to  hava  a  beau  that  was 


148  BUCKTHORNE,  OK  THE 

not  in  a  black  coat  and  clerical  wig.  You  must 
know  that  there  was  a  vast  distinction  between 
the  classes  of  society  of  the  town.  As  it  was  a 
place  of  some  trade  there  were  many  wealthy 
inhabitants  among  the  commercial  and  manu- 
facturing classes,  who  lived  in  style  and  gave 
many  entertainments.  Nothing  of  trade,  how- 
ever, was  admitted  into  the  cathedral  circle — 
faugh  !  the  thing  could  not  be  thought  of.  The 
cathedral  circle,  therefore,  was  apt  to  be  very 
select,  very  dignified,  and  very  dull.  They  had 
evening  parties,  at  which  the  old  ladies  played 
cards  with  the  prebends,  and  the  young  ladies 
sat  and  looked  on,  and  shifted  from  one  chair 
to  another  about  the  room,  until  it  was  time  to 
go  home. 

It  was  difficult  to  get  up  a  ball,  from  the  want 
of  partners,  the  cathedral  circle  being  very  defi- 
cient in  dancers  ;  and  on  those  occasions,  there 
was  an  occasional  drafting  among  the  dancing 
men  of  the  other  circle,  who,  however,  were 
generally  regarded  with  great  reserve  and  con- 
descension by  the  gentlemen  in  powdered  wigs. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  »REAT  EXPECTATIONS.  149 

Several  of  the  young  ladies,  assured  me,  in  con- 
fidence, that  they  had  often  looked  with  a  wist- 
ful eye  at  the  gayety  of  the  other  circle,  where 
there  was  such  plenty  of  young  beaux,  and  where 
•they  all  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  so  merrily ; 
but  that  it  would  be  degradation  to  think  of  de- 
scending from  their  sphere. 

I  admired  the  degree  of  old  fashioned  cere- 
mony, and  superannuated  courtesy  that  prevailed 
in  this  little  place.  The  bowings  and  curtsey- 
ings  that  would  take  place  about  the  cathedral 
porch  after  morning  service,  where  knots  of  old 
gentlemen  and  ladies  would  collect  together  to 
ask  after  each  other's  health,  and  settle  the  card 
party  for  the  evening.  The  little  presents  of 
fruit  and  delicacies,  and  the  thousand  petty  mes- 
sages that  would  pass  from  house  to  house  ;  for 
in  a  tranquil  community  like  this,  living  entirely 
at  ease,  and  having  little  to  do,  little  duties  and 
little  civilities  and  little  amusements,  fill  up  the 
day.  I  have  smiled,  as  I  looked  from  my  win- 
dow on  a  quiet  street  near  the  cathedral,  in  the 
middle  of  a  warm  summer  day,  to  see  a  corpu- 

PART  If.  90 


150  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

lent  powdered  footman  in  rich  livery,  carrying  a 
small  tart  on  a  large  silver  salver.  A  dainty  tit- 
bit, sent,  no  doubt,  by  some  worthy  old  dowager, 
to  top  off  the  dinner  of  her  favourite  prebend. 

Nothing  could  be  more  delectable,  also,  than 
the  breaking  up  of  one  of  their  evening  card  par- 
ties. Such  shakings  of  hand  ;  such  mobbing  up 
in  cloaks  and  tippets !  There  were  two  or  three 
old  sedan  chairs  that  did  the  duty  of  the  whole 
place  ;  though  the  greater  part  made  their  exit 
in  clogs  or  pattens,  with  a  footman  or  waiting 
maid  carrying  a  lanthorn  in  advance;  and -at  a 
certain  hour  of  the  night  the  clank  of  pattens  and 
the  gleam  of  these  jack  lanthorns,  here  and 
there,  about  the  quiet  little  town,  gave  notice 
that  the  cathedral  card  party  had  dissolved,  and 
the  luminaries  were  severally  seeking  their 
homes.  To  such  a  community,  therefore,  or 
at  least  to  the  female  part  of  it,  the  accession  of 
a  e;ay,  dashing  young  beau  was  a  matter  of  some 
importance.  The  old  ladies  eyed  me  with  com- 
placency through  their  spectacles,  and  the  young 
ladies  pronounced  me  divine.  Every  body  re- 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GKEAT   EXPECTATIONS.       151 

ceivcd  me  favourably,  excepting  the  gentleman 
who  had  written  the  Latin  verses  on  the  belle.-— 
Not  that  he  was  jealous  of  my  success  with  the 
lady,  for  he  had  no  pretensions  to  her ;  but  he 
heard  my  verses  praised  wherever  he  went,  and 
he  could  not  endure  a  rival  with  the  muse. 

I  was  thus  carrying  every  thing  before  me.  1 
was  the  Adonis  of  the  cathedral  circle;  when 
one  evening  there  was  a  public  ball  which  was 
attended  likewise  by  the  gentry  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. ,  I  took  great  pains  with  my  toilet 
on  the  occasion,  and  I  had  never  looked  better. 
1  had  determined  that  night  to  make  my  grand 
assault  on  the  heart  of  the  young  lady,  to  batter 
it  with  all  mv  forces,  and  the  next  morn  ins:  to 

•/  O 

demand  a  surrender  in  due  form. 

I  entered  the  ball  room  amidst  a*  buzz  and 
flutter,  which  .generally  took  place  among  the 
young  ladies  on  my  appearance.  I  was  in  fine 
spirits ;  for  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had  exhilarated 
myself  by  a  cheerful  glass  of  wine  on  the  occa- 
sion. I  talked,  and  rattled,  and  said  a  thousand 
silly  things,  slap  dash,  with  all  the  confidence  of 


152  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

a  man  sure  of  his  auditors;  and  every  thing  had 
its  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  my  triumph  I  observed  a  little 
knot  gathering  together  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
room.  By  degrees  it.  increased.  A  tittering  broke 
out  there ;  and  glances  were  cast  round  at 
me,  and  then  there  would  be  fresh  tittering. 
Some  of  the  young  ladies  would  hurry  away  to 
distant  parts  of  the  room,  and  whisper  to  their 
friends  :  wherever  they  went  there  was  still  this 
tittering  and  glancing  at  me.  I  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  all  this :  I  looked  at  myself 
from  head  to  foot ;  and  peeped  at  my  back  in  a 
glass,  to  see  if  any  thing  was  odd  about  my  per- 
son ;  any  awkward  exposure ;  any  whimsical 
tag  hanging  out — no — every  thing  was  right.  I 
was  a  perfect  picture. 

I  determined  that  it  must  be  sojne  choice  say- 
ing of  mine,  that  was  bandied  about  in  this  knot 
of  merry  beauties,  and  I  determined  to  enjoy  one 
of  my  good  things  in  the  rebound. 

I  stepped  gently,  therefore,  up  the  room,  smi- 
ling at  every  one  as  I  passed,  who  I  must  say  all 


tfOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.       153 

smiled  and  tittered  in  return.  I  approached  the 
group,  smirking  and  perking  my  chin,  like  a  man 
who  is  full  of  pleasant  feeling,  and  sure  of  being 
well  received.  The  cluster  of  little  belles  open- 
ed as  I  advanced. 

Heavens  and  earth !  whom  should  I  perceive  in 
the  midst  of  them,  but  my  early  and  tormenting 
flame,  the  everlasting  Sacharissa!  She  was 
grown  up,  it  is  true,  into  the  full  beauty  of  wo- 
manhood, but  showed  by  the  provoking  merri- 
ment of  her  countenance,  that  she  perfectly  re- 
collected me,  and  the  ridiculous  flagellations  of 
which  she  had  twice  been  the  cause. 

I  saw  at  once  the  exterminating  cloud  of  ridi- 
cule that  was  bursting  over  me.  My  crest  fell. 
The  flame  of  love  went  suddenly  out  in  my  bo- 
som ;  or  was  extinguished  by  overwhelming 
shame.  How  I  got  down  the  room  I  know  not  ; 
I  fancied  every  one  tittering  at  me.  Just  as  I 
reached  the  door,  I  caught  a  glance  of  my  mis- 
tress and  her  aunt  listening  to  the  whispers  of  my 
poetic  rival ;  the  old  lady  raising  her  hands  and 
eyes,  and  the  face  of  the  young  one  lighted  up 


154  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

with  scorn  ineffable.  I  paused  to  see  no  more  ; 
but  made  two  steps  from  the  top  of  the  stairs  to 
the  bottom.  The  next  morning,  before  sunrise, 
I  beat  a  retreat ;  and  did  not  feel  the  blushes  cool 
from  my  tingling  cheeks,  until  I  had  lost  sight  of 
the  old  towers  of  the.  cathedral. 

I  now  returned  to  town  thoughtful  and  crest- 
fallen. My  money  was  nearly  spent,  for  I  had 
lived  freely  and  without  calculation.  The  dream 
of  love  was  over,  and  the  reign  of  pleasure  at  an 
end.  I  determined  to  retrench  while  I  had  yet 
a  trifle  left ;  so  selling  my  equipage  and  horses 
for  half  their  value,  I  quietly  put  the  money  in 
my  pocket,  and  turned  pedestrian.  I  had  not  a 
doubt  that,  with  my  great  expectations,  I  could 
at  any  time  raise  funds,  either  on  usury  or  by  bor- 
rowing; but  I  was  principled  against  both  one 
and  the  other ;  and  resolved,  by  strict  economy, 
to  make  my  slender  purse  hold  out,  until  my  un- 
cle should  give  up  the  ghost ;  or  rather,  the  estate. 

I  staid  at  home,  therefore,  and  read,  and  would 
have  written  ;  but  I  had  already  suffered  too 
much  from  my  poetical  productions,  which  had 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   155 

generally  involved  me  in  some  ridiculous  scrape. 
I  gradually  acquired  a  rusty  look,  and  had  a 
straightened,  money-borrowing  air,  upon  which 
the  world  began  to  shy  me.  I  have  never  felt 
disposed  to  quarrel  with  the  world  for  its  conduct. 
It  has  always  used  me  well.  When  I  have  been 
flush,  and  gay,  and  disposed  for  society,  it  "has 
caressed  me;  and  when  I  have  been  pinched, 
and  reduced,  and  wished  to  be  alone,  why,  it  has 
left  me  alone  ;  and  what  more  could  a  man  de- 
sire ? — Take  my  word  for  it,  this  world  is  a  more 
obliging  world  than  people  generally  represent  it. 

Well,  sir,  in  the  midst  of  my  retrenchment,  my 
retirement  and  my  studiousness,  I  received  news 
that  my  uncle  was  dangerously  ill.  I  hastened 
on  the  wings  of  an  heir's  affections  to  receive  his 
dying  breath  and  his  last  testament.  I  found 
him  attended  by  his  faithful  valet  old  Iron  John ; 
by  the  woman  who  occasionally  worked,  about 
the  house ;  and  by  the  foxy-headed  boy  young 
Orson,  whom  I  had  occasionally  hunted  about 
the  park. 

Iron  John  gasped  a  kind  of  asthmatical  saluta- 


156  BttCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

( 

tion  as  I  entered  the  room,  and  received  me  with 
something  almost  like  a  smile  of  welcome.  The 
woman  sat  blubbering  at  the  foot  of  the  bed ;  and 
the  foxy  headed  Orson,  who  had  now  grown  up 
to  be  a  lubberly  lout,  stood  gazing  in  stupid  va- 
cancy at  a  distance. 

My  uncle  lay  stretched  upon  his  back.  The 
chamber  was  without  fire,  or  any  of  the  comforts 
of  a  sick  room.  The  cobwebs  flaunted  from  the 
ceiling.  The  tester  was  covered  with  dust,  and 
the  curtains  were  tattered.  From  underneath 
the  bed  peeped  out  one  end  of  his  strong  box. 
Against  the  wainscot  were  suspended  rusty  blun- 
derbusses, horse  pistols,  and  a  cut-and-thrust 
sword,  with  which  he  had  fortified  his  room  to 
defend  his  life  and  treasure.  He  had  employed 
no  physician  during  his  illness,  and  from  the 
scanty  relics  lying  on  the  table,  seemed  almost 
to  have  denied  himself  the  assistance  of  a  cook. 

When  I  entered  the  room  he  was  lying  mo- 
tionless ;  his  eyes  fixed  and  his  mouth  open  ;  at 
the  first  look  1  thought  him  a  corpse.  The 
noise  of  my  entrance  made  him  turn  his  head. 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.       157 

At  the  sight  of  me  a  ghastly  smile  came  over  his 
face,  and  his  glazing  eye  gleamed  with  satisfac- 
tion. It  was  the  only  smile  he  had  ever  given 
me,  and  it  went  to  my  heart.  "  Poor  old  man  !" 
thought  I,  u  why  would  you  not  let  me  love 
you  ? — Why  would  you  force  me  to  leave  you 
thus  desolate,  when  I  see  that  my  presence  has 
the  power  to  cheer  you  ?" 

"  Nephew,"  said  he,  after  several  efforts,  and 
in  a  low  gasping  voice — "  1  am  glad  you  are 
come.  I  shall  now  die  with  satisfaction.  Look,57 
said  he,  raising  his  withered  hand  and  point- 
ing— "  look — in  that  box  on  the  table  you  will 
find  that  I  have  not  forgotten  you," 

I  pressed  his  hand  to  my  heart,  and  the  tears 
stood  in  my  eyes.  I  sat  down  by  his  bed  side, 
and  watched  him,  but  he  never  spoke  again. 
My  presence,  however,  gave  him  evident  satis- 
faction— for  every  now  and  then,  as  he  looked 
at  me,  a  vague  smile  would  come  over  his  visage, 
and  he  would  feebly  point  to  the  sealed  box  on 
the  table.  As  the  day  wore  away  his  life  seem- 
ed to  wear  away  with  it.  Towards  sun  set,  his 

PART  II.  21 


158  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

hand  sunk  on  the  bed  and  lay  motionless ;  his 
eyes  grew  glazed;  his  mouth  remained  open, and 
thus  he  gradually  died. 

I  could  not  but  feel  shocked  at  this  absolute 
extinction  of  my  kindred.  1  dropped  a  tear  of 
real  sorrow  over  this  strange  old  man,  who  had 
thus  reserved  his  smile  of  kindness  to  his  death 
bed ;  like  an  evening  sun  after  a  gloomy  day, 
just  shining  out  to  set  in  darkness.  Leaving  the 
corpse  in  charge  of  the  domestics,  I  retired  for 
the  night. 

It  was  a  rough  night.  The  winds  seemed  as 
if  singing  my  uncle's  requiem  about  the  mansion  ; 
and  the  bloodhounds  howled  without  as  if  they 
knew  of  the  death  of  their  old  master.  Iron 
John  almost  grudged  me  the  tallow  candle  to 
burn  in  my  apartment  and  light  up  its  dreariness ; 
so  accustomed  had  he  been  to  starveling  economy. 
I  could  not  sleep.  The  recollection  of  my  un- 
cle's dying  scene  and  the  dreary  sounds  about  the 
house,  affected  my  mind.  These,  however,  were 
succeeded  by  plans  for  the  future,  and  I  lay  awake 
the  greater  part  of  the  night,  indulging  the  poeti- 


YOUNG  MAN  OP  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   159 

eal  anticipation,  how  soon  I  would  make  these 
old  walls  ring  with  cheerful  life,  and  restore  the 
hospitality  of  my  mother's  ancestors. 

My  uncle's  funeral  was  decent,  but  private.  I 
knew  there  was  nobody  that  respected  his  me- 
mory; and  I  was  determined  that  none  should 
be  summoned  to  sneer  over  his  funeral  wines,  and 
make  merry  at  his  grave.  He  was  buried  in  the 
church  of  the  neighbouring  village,  though  it  was 
not  the  burying  place  of  his  race ;  but  he  had 
expressly  enjoined  that  he  should  not  be  buried 
with  his  family  ;  he  had  quarrelled  with  the  most 
of  them  when  living,  and  he  carried  his  resent- 
ments even  into  the  grave. 

I  defrayed  the  expenses  of  the  funeral  out  of 
my  own  purse,  that  I  might  have  done  with  the 
undertakers  at  once,  and  clear  the  ill-omened 
birds  from  the  premises.  I  invited  the  parson  of 
the  parish,  and  the  lawyer  from  the  village  to  at- 
tend at  the  house  the  next  morning  and  hear  the 
reading  of  the  will.  I  treated  them  to  an  excel- 
lent breakfast,  a  profusion  that  had  not  been  seen 
at  the  house  for  many  a  year.  As  soon  as  the 


160  BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE 

breakfast  things  were  removed,  I  summoned  Iron 
John,  the  woman,  and  the  boj,  for  I  was  parti- 
cular in  having  every  one  present  and  proceed- 
ing regularly.  The  box  was  placed  on  the  table. 
All  was  silence.  I  broke  the  seal ;  raised  the 
lid  ;  and  beheld — not  the  will,  but  my  accursed 
poem  of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair ! 

Could  any  mortal  have  conceived  that  this  old 
withered  man  ;  so  taciturn,  and  apparently  lost 
to  feeling,  could  have  treasured  up  for  years  the 
thoughtless  pleasantry  of  a  boy,  to  punish  him 
with  such  cruel  ingenuity  ?  I  now  could  account 
for  his  dying  smile,  the  only  one  he  had  ever 
given  me.  He  had  been  a  grave  man  all  his 
life ;  it  was  strange  that  he  should  die  in  the  en- 
joyment of  a  joke ;  and  it  was  hard  that  that 
joke  should  be  at  my  expense. 

The  lawyer  and  the  parson  seemed  at  a  loss  to 
comprehend  the  matter.  "  Here  must  be  some 
mistake,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  there  is  no  will 
here." 

"  Oh,"  said  Iron  John,  creaking  forth  his  rusty 


YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS.   161 

jaws,  "  if  it  is  a  will  you  are  looking  for,  I  be- 
lieve I  can  find  one." 

He  retired  with  the  same  singular  smile  with 
which  he  had  greeted  me  on  my  arrival,  and 
which  I  now  apprehended  boded  me  no  good. 
In  a  little  \vhile  he  returned  with  a  will  perfect 
at  all  points,  properly  signed  and  sealed  and  wit- 
nessed ;  worded  with  horrible  correctness  ;  in 
which  he  left  large  legacies  to  Iron  John  and 
his  daughter,  and  the  residue  of  his  fortune 
to  the  foxy- headed  boy ;  who,  to  my  utter 
astonishment,  was  his  son  by  this  very  wo- 
man ;  he  having  married  her  privately ;  and,  as 
1  verily  believe,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  have 
an  heir,  and  so  baulk  my  father  and  his  issue  of 
the  inheritance.  There  was  one  little  proviso, 
in  which  he  mentioned  that  having  discovered 
his  nephew  to  have  a  pretty  turn  for  poetry,  he 
presumed  he  had  no  occasion  for  wealth  :  he  re- 
commended him,  however,  to  the  patronage  of  his 
heir  ;  and  requested  that  he  might  have  a  garret, 
rent  free,  in  Doubting  Castle. 


GRAVE  REFLECTIONS 


OP 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN. 


MR.  BUCKTHORNE  had  paused  at  the  death 
of  his  uncle,  and  the  downfall  of  his  great  ex- 
pectations, which  formed,  as  he  said,  an  epoch 
in  his  history  ;  and  it  was  not  until  some  little 
time  afterwards,  and  in  a  very  sober  mood,  that 
he  resumed  his  parti-coloured  narrative. 

After  leaving  the  domains  of  my  defunct  uncle, 
said  he,  when  the  gate  closed  between  me  and 
what  was  once  to  have  been  mine,  I  felt  thrust 
out  naked  into  the  world,  and  completely  aban- 
doned to  fortune.  What  was  to  become  of  me  ? 
I  had  been  brought  up  to  nothing  but  expecta- 
tions, and  they  had  all  been  disappointed.  I 
had  no  relations  to  look  to  for  counsel  or  assist- 


164  GRAVE  REFLECTIONS  OF 

ance.  The  world  seemed  all  to  have  died  away 
from  me.  Wave  after  wave  of  relationship  had 
ebbed  off,  and  I  was  left  a  mere  hulk  upon  the 
strand.  I  am  not  apt  to  be  greatly  cast  down, 
but  at  this  time  I  felt  sadly  disheartened.  I 
could  not  realize  my  situation,  nor  form  a  con- 
jecture how  I  was  to  get  forward. 

I  was  now  to  endeavour  to  make  money. 
The  idea  was  new  and  strange  to  me.  It  was 
like  being  asked  to  discover  the  philosophers' 
stone.  I  had  never  thought  about  money,  other 
than  to  put  my  hand  into  my  pocket  and  find  it, 
or  if  there  were  none  there,  to  wait  until  a  new 
supply  came  from  home.  I  had  considered  life 
as  a  mere  space  of  time  to  be  filled  up  with  en- 
joyments; but  to  have  it  portioned  out  into  long 
hours  and  days  of  toil,  merely  that  I  might  gain 
bread  to  give  me  strength  to  toil  on  ;  to  labour 
but  for  the  purpose  of  perpetuating  a  life  of  la- 
bour was  new  and  appalling  to  me.  This  may 
appear  a  very  simple  matter  to  some,  but  it  will 
be  understood  by  every  unlucky  wight  in  my  pre- 


A  BISAFPO1NTED  MAN.  165 

dicameiit,  who  has  had  the  misfortune  of  being 
born  to  great  expectations. 

I  passed  several  days  in  rambling  about  the 
scenes  of  my  boyhood  ;  partly  because  I  absolute- 
ly did  not  know  what  to  do  with  myself,  and 
partly  because  I  did  not  know  that  I  should  ever 
see  them  again.  I  clung  to  them  as  one  clings 
to  a  wreck,  though  he  knows  he  must  eventually 
cast  himself  loose  and  swim  for  his  life.  I  sat  down 
on  a  hill  within  sight  of  my  paternal  home,  but 
I  did  not  venture  to  approach  it,  for  I  felt  com- 
punction at  the  thoughtlessness  with  which  I  had 
dissipated  my  patrimony.  But  was  I  to  blame, 
when  I  had  the  rich  possessions  of  my  curmud- 
geon of  an  uncle  in  expectation  ? 

The  new  possessor  of  the  place  was  making 
great  alterations.  The  house  was  almost  rebuilt. 
The  trees  which  stood  about  it  were  cut  down; 
my  mother's  flower-garden  was  thrown  into  a 
lawn;  all  was  undergoing  a  change.  I  turned 
my  back  upon  it  with  a  sigh,  and  rambled  to  ano- 
ther part  of  the  country. 

How  thoughtful  a  little  adversity  makes  one. 
PART  II.  & 


166  GRAVE  REFLECTIONS  OF 

As  I  came  within  sight  of  the  school  house  where 
I  had  so  often  been  flogged  in  the  cause  of  wis- 
dom, you  would  hardly  have  recognized  the  tru- 
ant boy  who  but  a  few  years  since  had  eloped  so 
heedlessly  from  its  walls.  I  leaned  over  the  pa- 
ling of  the  play  ground,  and  watched  the  scholars 
at  their  games,  and  looked  to  see  if  there  might 
not  be  some  urchin  among  them,  like  I  was  once, 
full  of  gay  dreams  about  life  and  the  world.  The 
play  ground  seemed  smaller  than  when  I  used  to 
sport  about  it.  The  house  and  park,  too,  of  the 
neighbouring  squire,  the  father  of  the  cruel  Sa- 
charissa,  had  shrunk  in  size  and  diminished  in 
magnificence.  The  distant  hills  no  longer  ap- 
peared so  far  off,  and,  alas !  no  longer  awakened 
ideas  of  a  fairy  land  beyond. 

As  I  was  rambling  pensively  through  a  neigh- 
bouring meadow,  in  which  I  had  many  a  time 
gathered  primroses,  I  met  the  very  pedagogue 
who  had  been  the  tyrant  and  dread  of  my  boy- 
hood. I  had  sometimes  vowed  to  myself,  when 
suffering  under  his  rod,  that  I  would  have  my 
revenge  if  ever  I  met  him  when  1  had  grown  to 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN.  167 

be  a  man.  The  time  had  come ;  but  I  had  no 
disposition  to  keep  my  vow.  The  few  years 
which  had  matured  me  into  a  vigorous  man  had 
shrunk  him  into  decrepitude.  He  appeared  to 
have  had  a  paralytic  stroke.  I  looked  at  him, 
and  wondered  that  this  poor  helpless  mortal 
could  have  been  an  object  of  terror  to  me  !  That 
I  should  have  watched  with  anxiety  the  glance 
of  that  failing  eye,  or  dreaded  the  power  of  that 
trembling  hand!  He  tottered  feebly  along  the 
path,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  over  a 
style.  I  ran  and  assisted  him.  He  looked  at  me 
with  surprise,  but  did  not  recognize  me,  and  made 
a  low  bow  of  humility  and  thanks.  I  had  no 
disposition  to  make  myself  known,  for  I  felt  that 
I  had  nothing  to  boast  of.  The  pains  he  had 
taken  and  the  pains  he  had  inflicted  had  beeit 
equally  useless.  His  repeated  predictions  were 
fully  verified,  and  I  felt  that  little  Jack  Buck- 
thorne,  the  idle  boy,  had  grown  up  to  be  a  very 
good-for-nothing  man. 

This  is  all  very  comfortless  detail;  but  as  I  have 


168  GRAVE  REFLECTIONS  OF 

told  you  of  my  follies,  it  is  meet  that  I  show  you 
how  for  once  I  was  schooled  for  them. 

The  most  thoughtless  of  mortals  will  some 
time  or  other  have  this  day  of  gloom,  when  he 
will  be  compelled  to  reflect.  I  felt  on  this  occa- 
sion as  if  I  had  a  kind  of  penance  to  perform, 
and  I  made  a  pilgrimage  in  expiation  of  my  past 
levity. 

Having  passed  a  night  at  Leamington,  I  set 
off  by  a  private  path  which  leads  up  a  hill, 
through  a  grove,  and  across  quiet  fields,  until  I 
came  to  the  small  village,  or  rathej  hamlet  of 
Lenington.  I  sought  the  village  church.  It  is 
an  old  low  edifice  of  gray  stone  on  the  brow  of  a 
small  hill,  looking  over  fertile  fields  to  where 
the  proud  towers  of  Warwick  Castle  lift  them- 
selves against  the  distant  horizon.  A  part  of 
the  church  yard  is  shaded  by  large  trees.  Under 
one  of  these  my  mother  lay  buried.  You  have, 
HO  doubt,  thought  me  a  light,  heartless  being. 
I  thought  myself  so — but  there  are  moments  of 
adversity  which  let  us  into  some  feelings  of  our 
nature,  to  which  we  might  otherwise  remain 
perpetual  strangers. 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN. 

I  sought  my  mother's  grave.  The  weeds 
were  already  matted  over  it,  and  the  tombstone 
was  half  hid  among  nettles.  I  cleared  them 
away  and  they  stung  my  hands ;  but  I  was  heed- 
less of  the  pain,  for  my  heart  ached  too  severely. 
I  sat  down  on  the  grave,  and  read  over  and  over 
again  the  epitaph  on  the  stone.  It  was  simple, 
but  it  was  true.  I  had  written  it  myself.  I  had 
tried  to  write  a  poetical  epitaph,  but  in  vain  ;  my 
feelings  refused  to  utter  themselves  in  rhyme. 
My  heart  had  gradually  been  filling  during  my 
lonely  wanderings ;  it  was  now  charged  to  the 
brim  and  overflowed.  I  sank  upon  the  grave 
and  buried  my  face  in  the  tall  grass  and  wept 
like  a  child.  Yes,  I  wept  in  manhood  upon  the 
grave,  as  I  had  in  infancy  upon  the  bosom  of  my 
mother,  Alas !  how  little  do  we  appreciate  a 
mother's  tenderness  while  living  !  How  heed- 
less are  we,  in  youth,  of  all  her  anxieties  and 
kindness.  But  when  she  is  dead  and  gone  ; 
when  the  cares  and  coldness  of  the  world 
come  withering  to  our  hearts  ;  when  we  find  how 
hard  it  is  to  find  true  sympathy,  how  few  love 


170  GRAVE  REFLECTIONS  OF 

us  for  ourselves,  how  few  will  befriend  us  in 
our  misfortunes ;  then  it  is  we  think  of  the  mo- 
ther we  have  lost.  It  is  true  I  had  always  loved 
my  mother,  even  in  my  most  heedless  days ;  but 
I  felt  how  inconsiderate  and  ineffectual  had 
been  my  love.  My  heart  melted  as  I  retraced 
the  days  of  infancy,  when  I  was  led  by  a  mother's 
hand,  and  rocked  to  sleep  in  a  mother's  arrns, 
and  was  without  care  or  sorrow.  "  Oh,  my  mo- 
ther !"  exclaimed  I,  burying  my  face  again  in 
the  grass  of  the  grave — "  Oh,  that  I  were  once 
more  by  your  side  ;  sleeping,  never  to  wake 
again,  on  the  cares  and  troubles  of  this  world  !" 

I  am  not  naturally  of  a  morbid  temperament, 
and  the  violence  of  my  emotion  gradually  ex- 
hausted itself.  It  was  a  hearty,  honest,  natural, 
discharge  of  griefs  which  had  been  slowly  accu- 
mulating, and  gave  me  wonderful  relief.  I  rose 
from  the  grave  as  if  I  had  been  offering  up  a 
sacrifice,  and  I  felt  as  if  that  sacrifice  had  been 
accepted. 

I  sat  down  again  on  the  grass,  and  plucked, 
one  by  one,  the  weeds  from  her  grave ;  the  tears 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN.  171 

trickled  more  slowly  down  my  cheeks,  and 
ceased  to  be  bitter.  It  was  a  comfort  to  think 
that  she  had  died  before  sorrow  and  poverty 
came  upon  her  child,  and  that  all  his  great  ex~ 
pectations  were  blasted. 

I  leaned  my  cheek  upon  my  hand  and  looked 
upon  the  landscape.  Its  quiet  beauty  soothed 
me.  The  whistle  of  a  peasant  from  an  adjoin- 
ing field  came  cheerily  to  my  ear.  I  seemed  to 
respire  hope  and  comfort  with  the  free  air  that 
whispered  through  the  leaves  and  played  lightly 
with  my  hair,  and  dried  the  tears  upon  my 
cheek.  A  lark,  rising  from  the  field  before  mej 
and  leaving,  as  it  were,  a  stream  of  song  behind 
him  as  he  rose,  lifted  my  fancy  with  him.  He 
hovered  in  the  air  just  above  the  place  where  the 
towers  of  Warwick  Castle  marked  the  horizon  ; 
and  seemed  as  if  fluttering  with  delight  at  his 
own  melody.  "  Surely,"  thought  I,  "  if  there 
were  such  a  thing  as  transmigration  of  souls,  this 
might  be  taken  for  some  poet,  let  loose  from 
earth,  but  still  revelling  in  song,  and  carrolling 
about  fair  fields  and  lordly  towns.'7 


172  6RAVE  ftEFLfcCTlONS  O* 

At  this  moment  the  long  forgotten  feeling  of 
poetry  rose  within  me.  A  thought  sprung  at 
once  into  my  mind :  "  I  will  become  an  author," 
said  I.  "  I  have  hitherto  indulged  in  poetry  as 
a  pleasure,  and  it  has  brought  me  nothing  but 
pain.  Let  me  try  what  it  will  do,  when  I  cul- 
tivate it  with  devotion  as  a  pursuit." 

The  resolution,  thus  suddenly  aroused  within 
me,  heaved  a  load  from  off  my  heart.  I  felt 
a  confidence  in  it  from  the  very  place  where  it 
was  formed.  It  seemed  as  though  my  mother's 
spirit  whispered  it  to  me  from  her  grave.  "  I 
will  henceforth,"  said  I,  "  endeavour  to  be  all 
that  she  fondly  imagined  me.  I  will  endeavour 
to  act  as  if  she  were  witness  of  my  actions.  1 
will  endeavour  to  acquit  myself  in  such  manner 
that  when  I  revisit  her  grave  there  may,  at  least, 
be  no  compunctious  bitterness  in  my  tears." 

I  bowed  down  and  kissed  the  turf  in  solemn 
attestation  of  my  vow.  I  plucked  some  prim- 
roses that  were  growing  there  and  laid  them  next 
my  heart.  I  left  the  church  yard  with  my  spi- 
rits once  more  lifted  up,  and  set  out  a  third  time 
for  London,  in  the  character  of  an  author. 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN.  1  78 

Here  my  companion  made  a  pause,  and  I  wait- 
ed in  anxious  suspense  ;  hoping  to  have  a  whole 
volume  of  literary  life  unfolded  to  me.  He  seem- 
ed, however,  to  have  sunk  into  a  fit  of  pensive 
musing ;  and  when  after  some  time  I  gently  roused 
him  by  a  question  or  two  as  to  his  literary  career. 
"  No,"  said  he  smiling,  "  over  that  part  of  my 
story  I  wish  to  leave  a  cloud.  Let  the  mysteries 
of  the  craft  rest  sacred  for  me.  Let  those  who 
have  never  adventured  into  the  republic  of  letters, 
still  look  upon  it  as  a  fairyland.  Let  them  sup- 
pose the  author  the  very  being  they  picture  him 
from  his  works :  I  am  not  the  man  to  mar  their 
illusion.  1  am  not  the  man  to  hint,  while  one  is 
admiring  the  silken  web  of  Persia,  that  it  has 
been  spun  from  the  entrails  of  a  miserable  worm." 

"Well,"  said  T,  "  if  you  will  tell  me  nothing 
of  your  literary  history,  let  me  know  at  least  if 
you  have  had  any  farther  intelligence  from 
Doubting  Castle." 

"  Willingly,"  replied  he,  "  though  I  have  but 
little  to  communicate." 

PART  II.  23 


•fr 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 


A  LONG  time  elapsed,  said  Buckthorne,  with- 
out my  receiving  any  accounts  of  my  cousin  and 
his  estate.  Indeed,  I  felt  so  much  soreness  on 
the  subject,  that  I  wished,  if  possible,  to  shut  it 
from  my  thoughts.  At  length  chance  took  me 
into  that  part  of  the  country,  and  I  could  not  re*- 
frain  from  making  some  inquiries. 

I  learnt  that  my  cousin  had  grown  up  igno- 
rant, self-willed,  and  clownish.  His  ignorance 
and  clownishness  had  prevented  his  mingling 
with  the  neighbouring  gentry.  In  spite  of  ghis 
great  fortune  he  had  been  unsuccessful  in  an  at- 
tempt to  gain  the  hand  of  the  daughter  of  the  par- 
son, and  had  at  length  shrunk  into  the  limits  of 


17<>  THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 

such  society,  as  a  mere  man  of  wealth  can  gather 
in  a  country  neighbourhood. 

He  kept  horses  and  hounds  and  a  roaring  ta- 
ble, at  which  were  collected  the  loose  livers  of 
the  country  round,  and  the  shabby  gentlemen  of 
a  village  in  the  vicinity.  When  he  could  get  no 
other  company  he  would  smoke  and  drink  with 
his  own  servants,  who  in  their  turns  fleeced  and 
despised  him.  Still,  with  all  this  apparent  pro- 
digality, he  had  a  leaven  of  the  old  man  in  him, 
which  showed  that  he  was  his  true  born  son. 
He  lived  far  within  his  income,  was  vulgar  in 
his  expenses,  and  penurious  on  many  points  on 
which  a  gentleman  wrould  be  extravagant.  His 
house  servants  were  obliged  occasionally  to  work 
on  the  estate,  and  part  of  the  pleasure  grounds 
were  ploughed  up  and  devoted  to  husbandry. 

His  table,  though  plentiful,  was  coarse ;  his 
liquors  strong  and  bad  ;  and  more  ale  and  whis- 
key were  expended  in  his  establishment  than 
generous  wine.  He  was  loud  and  arrogant  at 
his  own  table,  and  exacted  a  rich  man's  homage 
from  his  vulgar  and  obsequious  guests. 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE.  177 

As  to  Iron  John,  his  old  grandfather,  he  had 
grown  impatient  of  the  tight  hand  his  own 
grandson  kept  over  him,  and  quarrelled  with  him 
soon  after  he  came  to  the  estate.  The  old  man 
had  retired  to  a  neighbouring  village  where  he 
lived  on  the  legacy  of  his  late  master,  in  a  small 
cottage,  and  was  as  seldom  seen  out  of  it  as  a 
rat  out  of  his  hole  in  day  light. 

The  cub,  like  Caliban,  seemed  to  have  an 
instinctive  attachment  to  his  mother.  She  re- 
sided with  him  ;  but,  from  long  habit,  she  acted 
more  as  servant  than  as  mistress  of  the  man- 
sion ;  for  she  toiled  in  all  the  domestic  drudgery, 
and  was  oftener  in  the  kitchen  than  the  parlour. 
Such  was  the  information  which  I  collected  of 
my  rival  cousin  who  had  so  unexpectedly  el- 
bowed me  out  of  all  my  expectations. 

I  now  felt  an  irresistible  hankering  to  pay  a 
visit  to  this  scene  of  my  boyhood ;  and  to  get  a 
peep  at  the  odd  kind  of  life  that  \vas  passing 
within  the  mansion  of  my  maternal  ancestors.  I 
determined  to  do  so  in  disguise.  My  booby 
cousin  had  never  seen  enough  of  me  to  be  very 


178  THE  BOOBY  SQUIUE. 

familiar  with  my  countenance,  and  a  few  years 
make  great  difference  between  youth  and  man- 
hood. I  understood  he  was  a  breeder  of  cattle 
and  proud  of  his  stock.  I  dressed  myself,  there- 
fore, as  a  substantial  farmer,  and  with  the  assist- 
ance of  a  red  scratch  that  came  low  down  on 
my  forehead,  made  a  complete  change  in  my 
physiognomy. 

It  was  past  three  o'clock  when  I  arrived  at 
the  gate  of  the  park,  and  was  admitted  by  an  old 
woman,  who  was  washing  in  a  dilapidated 
building  which  had  once  been  a  porter's  lodge. 
I  advanced  up  the  remains  of  a  noble  avenue, 
many  of  the  trees  of  which  had  been  cut  down 
and  sold  for  timber.  The  grounds  were  in 
scarcely  better  keeping  than  during  my  uncle's 
lifetime.  The  grass  was  overgrown  with 
weeds,  and  the  trees  wanted  pruning  and  clear- 
ing of  dead  branches.  Cattle  were  grazing 
about  the  lawns,  and  ducks  and  geese  swimming 
in  the  fishponds. 

The  road  to  the  house  bore  very  few  traces  of 
carriage  wrheels,  as  my  cousin  received  few  visit- 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 

crs  but  such  as  came  on  foot  or  horseback,  and 
never  used  a  carriage  himself.  Once,  indeed,  as 
I  was  told,  he  had  had  the  old  family  carriage 
drawn  out  from  among  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of 
the  coach  house  and  furbished  up,  and  had 
drove  with  his  mother,  to  the  village  church,  to 
take  formal  possession  of  the  family  pew  ;  but 
there  was  such  hooting  and  laughing  after  them 
as  they  passed  through  the  village,  and  such  gig- 
gling and  bantering  about  the  church  door,  that 
the  pageant  had  never  made  a  reappearance. 

As  I  approached  the  house,  a  legion  of  whelps 
sallied  out  barking  at  me,  accompanied  by  the 
low  howling  rather  than  barking  of  two  old  worn- 
out  bloodhounds,  which  I  recognized  for  the  an- 
cient life  guards  of  my  uncle.  The  house  had 
still  a  neglected,  random  appearance,  though 
much  altered  for  the  better  since  my  last  visit* 
Several  of  the  windows  were  broken  and  patch- 
ed up  with  boards ;  and  others  had  been  bricked 
up,  to  save  taxes.  I  observed  smoke,  however, 
rising  from  the  chimneys ;  a  phenomenon  rarely 
witnessed  in  the  ancient  establishment.  On 


180  THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 

passing  that  part  of  the  house  where  the  dining 
room  was  situated,  I  heard  the  sound  of  boister- 
ous merriment ;  where  three  or  four  voices  were 
talking  at  once,  and  oaths  and  laughter  were 
horribly  mingled. 

The  uproar  of  the  dogs  had  brought  a  servant 
to  the  door,  a  tall,  hard-fisted  country  clown, 
with  a  livery  coat  put  over  the  under  garments 
of  a  ploughman.  I  requested  to  seethe  master 
of  the  house,  but  was  told  he  was  at  dinner  with 
some  "  gemmen"  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  made 
known  my  business  and  sent  in  to  know  if  I 
might  talk  with  the  master  about  his  cattle ;  for 
t  felt  a  great  desire  to  have  a  peep  at  him  at  his 
orgies.  Word  was  returned  that  he  was  enga- 
ged with  company,  and  could  not  attend  to  busi- 
ness, but  that  if  I  would  "  step  in  and  take  a 
drink  of  something,  I  was  heartily  welcome." 
I  accordingly  entered  the  hall,  where  whips  and 
hats  of  all  kinds  and  shapes  were  lying  on  an 
oaken  table  ;  tvvoor  three  clownish  servants  were 
lounging  about ;  every  thing  had  a  look  of  con- 
fusion and  carelessness. 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE.  181 

The  apartments  through  which  I  passed  had 
the  same  air  of  departed  gentility  and  sluttish 
housekeeping.  The  once  rich  curtains  were 
faded  and  dusty;  the  furniture  greased  and  tar- 
nished. On  entering  the  dining  room  I  found  a 
number  of  odd  vulgar  looking  rustic  gentlemen 
seated  round  a  table,  on  which  were  bottles,  de- 
canters, tankards,  pipes  and  tobacco.  Several 
dogs  were  lying  about  the  room,  or  sitting  and 
watching  their  masters,  and  one  was  gnawing  a 
bone  under  a  side  table. 

The  master  of  the  feast  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
board.  He  was  greatly  altered.  He  had  grown 
thick  set  and  rather  gummy,  with  a  fiery  foxy 
head  of  hair.  There  was  a  singular  mixture  of 
foolishness  arrogance  and  conceit  in  his  counte- 
nance. He  was  dressed  in  a  vulgarly  fine  style, 
with  leather  breeches,  a  red  waistcoat  and  green 
coat,  and  was  evidently,  like  his  guests,  a  little 
flushed  with  drinking.  The  whole  company 
stared  at  me  with  a  whimsical  muggy  look  ; 
like  men  whose  senses  were  a  little  obfruseated 
by  beer  rather  than  wine. 
PART  IL  24 


182  THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 

My  cousin,  (God  forgive  me  !  the  appellation 
sticks  in  my  throat,)  my  cousin  invited  me  with 
awkward  civility,  or,  as  he  intended  it,  condes- 
cension, to  sit  to  the  table  and  drink.  We  talk- 
ed as  usual,  about  the  weather,  the  crops,  poli- 
tics, and  hard  times.  My  cousin  was  a  loud 
politician,  and  evidently  accustomed  to  talk 
without  contradiction  at  his  own  table.  He 
was  amazingly  loyal,  and  talked  of  standing  by 
the  throne  to  the  last  guinea,  "  as  every  gentle- 
man of  fortune  should  do."  The  village  excise- 
man, who  was  half  asleep,  could  just  ejaculate 
"  very  true,"  to  every  thing  he  said. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  cattle ;  he  boast- 
ed of  his  breed,  his  mode  of  managing  it,  and  of 
the  general  management  of  his  estate.  This  un- 
luckily drew  on  a  history  of  the  place  and  of  the 
family.  He  spoke  of  my  late  uncle  with  the 
greatest  irreverence,  which  I  could  easily  forgive. 
He  mentioned  my  name,  and  my  blood  began  to 
boil.  He  described  my  frequent  visits  to  my  un- 
cle when  I  was  a  lad,  and  I  found  the  varlet,  even 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE.  183 

at  that  time,  imp  as  he  was,  had  known  that  he 
was  lo  inherit  the  estate. 

He  described  the  scene  of  my  uncle's  death, 
and  the  opening  of  the  will,  with  a  degree  of 
coarse  humour  that  I  had  not  expected  from  him  ; 
and,  vexed  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  joining  in 
the  laugh ;  for  I  have  always  relished  a  joke, 
even  though  made  at  my  own  expense.    He  went 
on  to  speak  of  my  various  pursuits  ;  my  strolling 
freak,  and  that  somewhat  nettled  me.     At  length 
he  talked  of  my  parents.     He  ridiculed  my  fa- 
ther :  I  stomached  even  that,  though  with  great 
difficulty.  He  mentioned  my  mother  with  a  sneer 
— and  in  an  instant  he  lay  sprawling  at  my  feet. 
Here  a  scene  of  tumult  succeeded.     The  table 
was  nearly   overturned.     Bottles,  glasses,  and 
tankards  rolled  crashing  and  clattering  about  the 
floor.    The  company  seized  hold  of  both  of  us  to 
keep  us  from  doing  farther  mischief.     I  struggled 
to  get  loose,  for  I  was  boiling  with  fury.     My 
cousin  defied  me  to  strip  and  fight  him  on  the 
lawn.     I  agreed  ;  for  I  felt  the  strength  of  a  gi- 
ant in  me,  and  I  longed  to  pummel  him  soundly. 


184  THE  BOOBY   SQUIRE. 

Away  then  we  were  borne.  A  ring  was  form- 
ed. I  had  a  second  assigned  me  in  true  boxing 
style.  IVIy  cousin,  as  he  advanced  to  fight,  said 
something  about  his  generosity  in  showing  me 
such  fair  play,  when  I  had  made  such  an  unpro- 
voked attack  upon  him  at  his  own  table. 

"  Stop  there !"  cried  I,  in  a  rage — u  unprovo- 
ked ! — know  that  I  am  John  Buckthorne,  and 
you  have  insulted  the  memory  of  my  mother." 

The  lout  was  suddenly  struck  by  what  I  said. 
He  drew  back  and  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  Nay,  damn  it,"  said  he,  "  that's  too  much — 
that's  clear  another  thing.  I've  a  mother  my- 
self, and  no  one  shall  speak  ill  of  her,  bad  as  she 
is." 

He  paused  again.  Nature  seemed  to  have  a 
rough  struggle  in  his  rude  bosom. 

"  Damn  it,  cousin,"  cried  he,  "  I'm  sorry  for 
what  I  said.  Thou'st  served  me  right  in  knock- 
ing me  down,  and  I  like  thee  the  better  for  it. 
Here's  my  hand.  Come  and  live  with  me,  and 
damme  but  the  best  room  in  the  house,  and  the 
best  horse  in  the  stable,  shall  be  at  thy  service." 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE.  185 

I  declare  to  you  I  was  strongly  moved  at  this 
instance  of  nature  breaking  her  way  through 
such  a  lump  of  flesh.  I  forgave  the  fellow  in  a 
moment  all  his  crimes  of  having  been  born  in 
wedlock  and  inheriting  my  estate.  I  shook  the 
hand  he  offered  me,  to  convince  him  that  I  bore 
him  no  ill  will ;  and  then  making  my  way  through 
the  gaping  crowd  of  toad  eaters,  bade  adieu  to 
my  uncle's  domains  forever.  This  is  the  last  I 
have  seen  or  heard  of  my  cousin,  or  of  the  do- 
mestic concerns  of  Doubting  Castle. 


THE 


STROLLING  MANAGER 


As  I  was  walking  one  morning  with  Buckthorne, 
near  one  of  the  principal  theatres,  he  directed  my 
attention  to  a  groupe  of  those  equivocal  beings 
that  may  often  be  seen  hovering  about  the  stage 
doors  of  theatres.  They  were  marvellously 
ill  favoured  in  their  attire,  their  coats  buttoned 
up  to  their  chins  ;  yet  they  wore  their  hats  smart- 
ly on  one  side,  and  had  a  certain  knowing,  dirty- 
gentleman  like  air,  which  is  common  to  the  su- 
balterns of  the  drama.  Buckthorne  knew  them 
well  by  early  experience. 

These,  said  he,  are  the  ghosts  of  departed 
kings  and  heroes ;  fellows  who  sway  sceptres 
and  truncheons ;  command  kingdoms  and  armies; 


188       THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

and  after  giving  away  realms  and  treasures  over 
night,  have  scarce  a  shilling  to  pay  for  a  break- 
fast in  the  morning.  Yet  they  have  the  true 
vagabond  abhorrence  of  all  useful  and  industrious 
employment ;  and  they  have  their  pleasures  too : 
one  of  which -is  to  lounge  in  this  way  in  the  sun- 
shine, at  the  stage  door,  during  rehearsals,  and 
make  hackneyed  theatrical  jokes  on  all  passers 

by- 

Nothing  is  more  traditional  and  legitimate 
than  the  stage.  Old  scenery,  old  clothes,  old 
sentiments,  old  ranting,  and  old  jokes,  are  hand- 
ed down  from  generation  to  generation  ;  and 
will  probably  continue  to  be  so,  until  time  shall 
be  no  more.  Every  hanger  on  of  a  theatre 
becomes  a  wag  by  inheritance,  and  flourishes 
about  at  tap  rooms  and  six-penny  clubs,  with 
the  property  jokes  of  the  green  room. 

While  amusing  ourselves  with  reconnoitring 
this  groupe,  we  noticed  one  in  particular  who 
appeared  to  be  the  oracle.  He  was  a  weather 
beaten  veteran,  a  little  bronzed  by  time  and 
beer,  who  had,  no  doubt,  grown  gray  in  the 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.       189 

parts  of  robbers,  cardinals,  Roman  senators,  and 
walking  noblemen. 

"  There's  something  in  the  set  of  that  hat,  and 
the  turn  of  that  physiognomy,  that  is  extremely 
familiar  to  me,"  said  Buckthorne.  He  looked 
a  little  closer.  "  I  cannot  be  mistaken,"  added 
he,  "  that  must  be  my  old  brother  of  the  trun- 
cheon, Flimsey,  the  tragic  hero  of  the  strolling 
company." 

It  was  he  in  fact.  The  poor  fellow  showed 
evident  signs  that  times  went  hard  with  him  ;  he 
was  so  finely  and  shabbily  dressed.  His  coat 
was  somewhat  threadbare,  and  of  the  Lord 
Townly  cut ;  single  breasted,  and  scarcely  capa- 
ble of  meeting  in  front  of  his  body ;  which,  from 
long  intimacy,  had  acquired  the  symmetry  and 
robustness  of  a  beer  barrel.  He  wore  a  pair  of 
dingy  white  stockinet  pantaloons,  which  had 
much  ado  to  reach  his  waistcoat ;  a  great  quan- 
tity of  dirty  cravat;  and  a  pair  of  old  russet-co- 
loured tragedy  boots. 

When  his  companions  had  dispersed,  Buck- 
thorne drew  him  aside  and  made  himself  known 

PART  II.  25 


190       THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

to  him.  The  tragic  veteran  could  scarcely  recog- 
nize him,  or  believe  that  he  was  realty  his  quon- 
dam associate  "  little  gentleman  Jack."  Buck- 
thorne  invited  him  to  a  neighbouring  coffee  house 
to  talk  over  old  times ;  and  in  the  course  of  a 
little  while  we  were  put  in  possession  of  his  his- 
tory in  brief. 

He  had  continued  to  act  the  heroes  in  the  strol- 
ling company  for  some  time  after  Buckthorne 
had  left  it,  or  rather  had  been  driven  from  it  so 
abrupt!).  At  length  the  manager  died,  and  the 
troop  was  thrown  into  confusion.  Every  one 
aspired  to  the  crown  ;  every  one  was  for  taking 
the  lead ;  and  the  manager's  widow,  although  a 
tragedy  queen,  and  a  brimstone  to  boot,  pronoun- 
ced it  utterly  impossible  to  keep  any  controul 
over  such  a  set  of  tempestuous  rascallions. 

Upon  this  hint  I  spoke,  said  Flimsey — I 
stepped  forward,  and  offered  my  services  in  the 
most  effectual  way.  They  were  accepted.  In 
a  week's  time  I  married  the  widow  and  succeed- 
ed to  the  throne.  "  The  funeral  baked  meats  did 
coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  table,"  as  Ham- 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  19! 

let  says.  But  the  ghost  of  my  predecessor  never 
haunted  me ;  and  I  inherited  crowns,  sceptres, 
bowls,  daggers,  and  all  the  stage  trappings  and 
trumpery,  not  omitting  the  widow,  without  the 
least  molestation. 

I  now  led  a  flourishing  life  of  it ;  for  our  com- 
pany was  pretty  strong  and  attractive,  and  as  my 
wife  and  I  took  the  heavy  parts  of  tragedy,  it 
was  a  great  saving  to  the  treasury.  We  carried 
off  the  palm  from  all  the  rival  shows  at  country 
fairs ;  and  I  assure  you  we  have  even  drawn  full 
houses,  and  been  applauded  by  the  critics  at  Bart- 
lemy  fair  itself,  though  we  had  Astley's  troop, 
the  Irish  giant,  and  "  the  death  of  Nelson"  in 
wax  work  to  contend  against. 

I  soon  began  to  experience,  however,  the  cares 
of  command.  I  discovered  that  there  were  ca- 
bals breaking  out  in  the  company,  headed  by 
the  clown,  who  you  may  recollect  was  a  terri- 
bly peevish,  fractious  fellow,  and  always  in  ill 
humour.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  turn  him  off  at 
once,  but  I  could  not  do  without  him,  for  there 
was  not  a  droller  scoundrel  on  the  stage.  His 


192       THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

very  shape  was  comic  for  he  had  but  to  turn  his 
back  upon  the  audience  and  all  the  ladies  were 
ready  to  die  with  laughing.  He  felt  his  impor- 
tance, and  took  advantage  of  it.  He  would 
keep  the  audience  in  a  continual  roar,  and  then 
come  behind  the  scenes  and  fret  and  fume  and 
play  the  very  devil.  I  excused  a  great  deal  in 
him,  however,  knowing  that  comic  actors  are  a 
little  prone  to  this  infirmity  of  temper. 

I  had  another  trouble  of  a  nearer  and  dearer  na- 
ture to  struggle  with ;  which  was,  the  affection  of 
my  wife.  As  ill  luck  would  have  it  she  took  it  into 
her  head  to  be  very  fond  of  me,  and  became  in- 
tolerably jealous.  I  could  not  keep  a  pretty 
girl  in  the  company,  and  hardly  dared  embrace  an 
ugly  one,  even  when  my  part  required  it.  I  have 
known  her  to  reduce  a  fine  lady  to  tatters,  "to 
very  rags,"  as  Hamlet  says,  in  an  instant,  and 
destroy  one  of  the  very  best  dresses  in  the  ward- 
robe ;  merely  because  she  saw  me  kiss  her  at 
the  side  scenes ; — though  I  give  you  my  honour 
it  was  done  merely  by  way  of  rehearsal. 

This  was  doubly  annoying,  because  I  have  a 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.        198 

natural  liking  to  pretty  faces,  and  wish  to  have 
them  about  me  ;  and  because  they  are  indispen- 
sable to  the  success  of  a  company  at  a  fair, 
where  one  has  to  vie  with  so  many  rival  theatres. 
But  when  once  a  jealous  wife  gets  a  freak  in  her 
head  there's  no  use  in  talking  of  interest  or  any 
thing  else.  Egad,  sirs,  I  have  more  than  once 
trembled  when  during  a  fit  of  her  tantrums,  she 
was  playing  high  tragedy,  and  flourishing  her  tin 
dagger  on  the  stage,  lest  she  should  give  way 
to  her  humour,  and  stab  some  fancied  rival  in 
good  earnest. 

I  went  on  better,  however,  than  could  be  ex- 
pected, considering  the  weakness  of  my  flesh 
and  the  violence  of  my  rib.  I  had  not  a  much 
worse  time  of  it  than  old  Jupiter,  whose  spouse 
was  continually  ferreting  out  some  new  intrigue 
and  making  the  heavens  almost  too  hot  to  hold 
him. 

At  length,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we  were 
performing  at  a  country  fair,  when  I  understood 
the  theatre  of  a  neighbouring  town  to  be  vacant. 
I  had  always  been  desirous  to  be  enrolled  in  a 


194       THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

settled  company,  and  the  height  of  my  desire 
was  to  get  on  a  par  with  a  brother-in-law,  who 
was  manager  of  a  regular  theatre,  and  who  had 
looked  down  upon  me.  Here  was  an  opportu- 
nity not  to  be  neglected.  I  concluded  an  agree- 
ment with  the  proprietors,  and  in  a  few  days 
opened  the  theatre  with  great  eclat. 

Behold  me  now  at  the  summit  of  my  ambition, 
"the  high  top-gallant  of  my  joy,"  as  Thomas 
says.  No  longer  a  chieftain  of  a  wandering 
tribe,  but  the  monarch  of  a  legitimate  throne — 
and  entitled  to  call  even  the  great  potentates  of 
Covent  Garden  and  Drury  Lane  cousin. 

You  no  doubt  think  my  happiness  complete* 
Alas,  sir  !  I  was  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable 
dogs  living.  No  one  knows,  who  has  not  tried, 
the  miseries  of  a  manager ;  but  above  all,  of  a 
country  manager — no  one  can  conceive  the  con- 
tentions and  quarrels  within  doors,  the  oppres- 
sions and  vexations  from  without. 

I  was  pestered  with  the  bloods  and  loungers 
of  a  country  town,  who  infested  my  green  room, 
and  played  the  mischief  among  my  actresses. 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  195 

But  there  was  no  shaking  them  off.  It 
would  have  been  ruin  to  affront  them ;  for, 
though  troublesome  friends,  they  would  have 
been  dangerous  enemies.  Then  there  were  the 
village  critics  and  village  amateurs,  who  were 
continually  tormenting  me  with  advice,  and 
getting  into  a  passion  if  I  would  not  take  it : — 
especially  the  village  doctor  and  the  village  at^ 
torney  ;  who  had  both  been  to  London  occasion- 
ally, and  knew  what  acting  should  be. 

I  had  also  to  manage  as  arrant  a  crew  of  scape 
graces  as  were  ever  collected  together  within  the 
walls  of  a  theatre.  I  had  been  obliged  to  com- 
bine my  original  troop  with  some  of  the  former 
troop  of  the  theatre,  who  were  favourites  with 
the  public.  Here  was  a  mixture  that  produced 
perpetual  ferment.  They  were  all  the  time 
either  fighting  or  frolicking  with  each  other,  and 
I  scarcely  knew  which  mood  was  least  trouble- 
some. If  they  quarrelled,  every  thing  went 
wrong ;  and  if  they  were  friends,  they  were  con- 
tinually playing  off  some  confounded  prank  upon 
each  other,  or  upon  me ;  for  I  -had  unhappily 


196        THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

acquired  among  them  the  character  of  an  easy 
gooti-natured  fellow,  the  worst  character  that  a 
manager  can  possess. 

Their  waggery  at  times  drove  me  almost  cra- 
zy ;  for  there  is  nothing  so  vexatious  as  the 
hackneyed  tricks  and  hoaxes  and  pleasantries  of 
a  veteran  band  of  theatrical  vagabonds.  I  relish- 
ed them  wrll  enough,  it  is  true,  while  I  was 
merely  one  of  the  company,  but  as  manager  I 
found  them  detestable.  They  were  incessantly 
bringing  some  disgrace  upon  the  theatre  by  their 
tavern  frolicks,  and  their  pranks  about  the  coun- 
try town.  All  my  lectures  upon  the  importance 
of  keeping  up  the  dignity  of  the  profession,  and 
the  respectability  of  the  company  were  in  vain. 
The  villains  could  not  sympathize  with  the  de- 
licate feelings  of  a  man  in  station.  They  even 
trifled  with  the  seriousness  of  stage  business.  I 
have  had  the  whole  piece  interrupted  and  a  crowd- 
ed audience  of  at  least  twenty-five  pounds  kept 
waiting,  because  the  actors,  had  hid  away  the 
breeches  of  Rosalind  ;  and  have  known  Hamlet 
stalk  solemnly  on  to  deliver  his  soliloquy,  with  a 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.       197 

dish  clout  pinned  to  his  skirts.  Such  are  the 
baleful  consequences  of  a  managers'  getting  a 
character  for  good  nature. 

I  was  intolerably  annoyed,  too,  by  the  great 
actors,  who  came  down  starring,  as  it  is  called; 
from  London.  Of  all  baneful  influences,  keep 
me  from  that  of  a  London  star.  A  first  rate  ac- 
tress, going  the  rounds  of  the  country  theatres, 
is  as  bad  as  a  blazing  comet,  whisking  about  the 
heavens,  and  shaking  fire,  and  plagues,  and  dis- 
cords from  its  tail. 

The  moment  one  of  these  "  heavenly  bodies," 
appeared  on  my  horizon,  I  was  sure  to  be  in  hot 
water.  My  theatre  was  overrun  by  provincial  dan- 
dies, copper-washed  counterfeits  of  Bond-street 
loungers;  who  are  always  proud  to  be  in  the 
train  of  an  actress  from  town,  and  anxious  to  be 
thought  on  exceeding  good  terms  with  her.  It 
was  really  a  relief  to  me  when  some  random 
young  nobleman  would  come  in  pursuit  of  the 
bait,  and  awe  all  this  small  fry  to  a  distance.  I 
have  always  felt  myself  more  at  ease  with  a  no- 
bleman than  with  the  dandy  of  a  country  town. 
PART  II.  26 


198        THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

And  then  the  injuries  I  suffered  in  my  person- 
al dignity  and  my  managerial  authority  from  the 
visits  of  these  great  London  actors.  Sir,  I  was 
no  longer  master  of  myself  or  my  throne.  I  was 
hectored  and  lectured  in  my  own  green-room,  and 
made  an  absolute  nincompoop  on  my  own  stage. 
There  is  no  tyrant  so  absolute  and  capricious  as 
a  London  star  at  a  country  theatre. 

I  dreaded  the  sight  of  all  of  them  ;  and  yet  if 
I  did  not  engage  them,  I  was  sure  of  having  the 
public  clamourous  against  me.  They  drew  full 
houses,  and  appeared  to  be  making  my  fortune ; 
but  they  swallowed  up  all  the  profits  by  their  in- 
satiable demands.  They  were  absolute  tape 
worms  to  my  little  theatre  ;  the  more  it  took  in, 
the  poorer  it  grew.  They  were  sure  to  leave  me 
with  an  exhausted  public,  empty  benches,  and  a 
score  or  two  of  affronts  to  settle  among  the  towns 
folk,  in  consequence  of  misunderstandings  about 
the  taking  of  places. 

But  the  worst  thing  I  had  to  undergo  in  my  ma- 
nagerial career  was  patronage.  Oh,  sir,  of  all 
things  deliver  me  from  the  patronage  of  the  great 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  199 

people  of  a  country  town.  It  was  my  ruin.  You 
must  know  that  this  town,  though  small,  was 
filled  with  feuds,  and  parties,  and  great  folks ; 
being  a  busy  little  trading  and  manufacturing 
town.  The  mischief  was,  that  their  greatness 
was  of  a  kind  not  to  be  settled  by  reference  to  the 
court  calender,  or  college  of  heraldry.  It  was 
therefore  the  most  quarrelsome  kind  of  greatness 
in  existence.  You  smile,  sir,  but  let  me  tell  you 
there  are  no  feuds  more  furious  than  the  frontier 
feuds,  which  take  place  on  these  "  debateable 
lands"  of  gentility.  The  most  violent  dispute 
that  I  ever  knew  in  high  life,  was  one  that  oc- 
curred at  a  country  town,  on  a  question  of  pre- 
cedence between  the  ladies  of  a  manufacturer  of 
pins,  and  a  manufacturer  of  needles. 

At  the  town  where  I  was  situated  there  were 
perpetual  altercations  of  the  kind.  The  head 
manufacturer's  lady,  for  instance,  was  at  daggers 
drawings  with  the  head  shopkeeper's,  and  both 
were  too  rich,  and  had  too  many  friends  to  be 
treated  lightly.  The  doctor's  arid  lawyer's  la- 
dies held  their  heads  still  higher ;  but  they  in 


200  THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

their  turn  were  kept  in  check  by  the  wife  of  a 
country  banker,  who  kept  her  own  carnage ; 
while  a  masculine  widow  of  cracked  character, 
and  second  hand  fashion,  who  lived  in  a  large 
house,  and  was  in  some  way  related  to  nobility, 
looked  down  upon  them  all.  She  had  been  exi- 
led from  the  great  world,  but  here  she  ruled  ab- 
solute. To  be  sure  her  manners  were  not  over 
elegant,  nor  her  fortune  over  large ;  but  then, 
sir,  her  blood — oh,  her  blood  carried  it  all  hol- 
low; there  was  no  withstanding  a  woman  with 
such  blood  in  her  veins. 

After  all,  she  had  frequent  battles  for  prece- 
dence at  balls  and  assemblies,  with  some  of  the 
sturdy  dames  of  the  neighbourhood,  who  stood 
upon  their  wealth  and  their  reputations ;  but 
then  she  had  two  dashing  daughters,  who  dressed 
as  fine  as  dragons,  and  had  as  high  blood  as  their 
mother,  and  seconded  her  in  every  thing.  So 
they  carried  their  point  with  high  heads,  and 
every  body  hated,  abused,  and  stood  in  awe  of 
the  Fantadlins.* 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  fashionable  world  in 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  201 

this  self-important  little  town.  Unluckily  I  was 
not  as  well  acquainted  with  its  politics  as  I  should 
have  been.  1  had  found  myself  a  stranger  and 
in  great  perplexities  during  my  first  season  ;  I 
determined,  therefore,  to  put  myself  under  the 
patronage  of  some  powerful  name,  and  thus  to 
take  the  field  with  the  prejudices  of  the  public  in 
my  favour.  I  cast  round  my  thoughts  for  the 
purpose,  and  in  an  evil  hour  they  fell  upon  Mrs. 
Fantadlin.  No  one  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  more 
absolute  sway  in  the  world  of  fashion.  I  had 
always  noticed  that  her  party  slammed  the  box 
door  the  loudest  at  the  theatre  ;  had  most  beaux 
attending  on  them  ;  and  talked  and  laughed  loud- 
est during  the  performance ;  and  then  the  Miss 
Fantadlins  wore  always  more  feathers  and  flow- 
ers than  any  other  ladies  ;  and  used  quizzing 
glasses  incessantly.  The  first  evening  of  my 
theatre's  reopening,  therefore,  was  announced  in 
flaring  capitals  on  the  play  bills,  "  under  the  pa- 
tronage of  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Fantadlin." 

Sir,  the  whole  community  flew  to  arms !     The 
banker's  wife  felt  her  dignity  grievously  insulted 


202        THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

at  not  having  the  preference  ;  her  husband  being 
high  bailiff,  and  the  richest  man  in  the  place. 
She  immediately  issued  invitations  for  a  large 
party,  for  the  night  of  the  performance,  arid  asked 
many  a  lady  to  it  whom  she  never  had  noticed 
before.  The  fashionable  world  had  long  groan- 
ed under  the  tyranny  of  the  Fantadlins,  and  were 
glad  to  make  a  common  cause  against  this  new 
instance  of  assumption. — Presume  to  patronize 
the  theatre  !  insufferable  !  Those,  too,  who  had 
never  before  been  noticed  by  the  banker's  lady, 
were  ready  to  enlist  in  any  quarrel,  for  the  honour 
of  her  acquaintance.  All  minor  feuds  were  there- 
fore forgotten.  The  doctor's  lady  and  the  law- 
yer's lady  met  together  ;  and  the  manufacturer's 
lady  and  the  shopkeeper's  lady  kissed  each 
other;  and  all,  headed  by  the  banker's  lady,  vo- 
ted the  theatre  a  bore,  and  determined  to  encou- 
rage nothing  but  the  Indian  Jugglers,  and  Mr. 
Walker's  Eidonianeon. 

Alas  for  poor  Pillgarlick !  I  little  knew  the 
mischief  that  was  brewing  against  me.  My  box 
book  remained  blank.  The  evening  arrived ; 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  203 

Eut  no  audience.  The  music  struck  up  to  a  tole- 
rable pit  and  gallery,  but  no  fashionables!  I 
peeped  anxiously  from  behind  the  curtain,  but 
the  time  passed  away ;  the  play  was  retarded 
until  pit  and  gallery  became  furious;  and  I  had 
to  raise  the  curtain,  and  play  my  greatest  part  in 
*  tragedy  to  "a  beggarly  account  of  empty  boxes." 
It  is  true  the  Fantadlins  came  late,  as  was 
their  custom,  and  entered  like  a  tempest,  with  a 
flutter  of  feathers  and  red  shawls;  but  they  were 
evidently  disconcerted  at  finding  they  had  no 
one  to  admire  and  envy  them,  and  were  enraged 
at  this  glaring  defection  of  their  fashionable  fol- 
lowers. Ail  the  beau-monde  were  engaged  at 
the  banker's  lady's  rout.  They  remained  for 
some  time  in  solitary  and  uncomfortable  state, 
and  though  they  had  the  theatre  almost  to  them- 
selves, yet,  for  the  first  time,  they  talked  hi 
whispers.  They  left  the  house  at  the  end  of  the 
first  piece,  and  I  never  saw  them  afterwards. 

Such  was  the  rock  on  which  I  split.  I-never 
got  over  the  patronage  of  the  Fantadlin  family. 
It  became  the  vogue  to  abuse  the  theatre  and 


204        THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

declare  the  performers  shocking.  An  eques- 
trian troop  opened  a  circus  in  the  town  about 
the  same  time,  arid  rose  on  my  ruins.  My  house 
was  deserted  ;  my  actors  grew  discontented  be- 
cause they  were  ill  paid  ;  my  door  became  a 
hammering  place  for  every  bailiff  in  the  county  ; 
and  my  wife  became  more  and  more  shrewish 
and  tormenting,  the  more  I  wanted  comfort. 

The  establishment  now  became  a  scene  of 
confusion  and  peculation.  I  was  considered 
a  ruined  man,  and  of  course  fair  game  for  every 
one  to  pluck  at,  as  every  one  plunders  a  sinking 
ship.  Day  after  day  some  of  the  troop  deserted, 
and  like  deserting  soldiers,  carried  off  their  arms 
and  accoutrements  with  them.  In  this  manner 
my  wardrobe  took  legs  and  walked  away  ;  my 
finery  strolled  all  over  the  country  ;  my  swords 
and  daggers  glittered  in  every  barn  ;  until  at 
last  my  tailor  made  "  one  fell  swoop,"  and  car- 
ried off  three  dress  coats,  half  a  dozen  doublets, 
and  nineteen  pair  of  flesh  coloured  pantaloons. 

This  was  the  "  be  all  and  the  end  all"  of  my 
fortune.      I    no  longer    hesitated  what   to  do. 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  205 

Egad,  thought  I,  since  stealing  is  the  order  of  the 
day,  I'll  steal  too.  So  I  secretly  gathered  together 
the  jewels  of  my  wardrobe  ;  packed  up  a  hero's 
dress  in  a  handkerchief,  slung  it  on  the  end 
of  a  tragedy  sword,  and  quietly  stole  off  at  dead 
of  night — "  the  bell  then  beating  one," — leaving 
my  queen  and  kingdom  to  the  mercy  of  my  re- 
bellious subjects,  and  my  merciless  foes  the  bum- 
bailiffs. 

Such,  sir,  was  the  "end  of  all  my  greatness." 
I  was  heartily  cured  of  all  passion  for  governing, 
and  returned  once  more  into  the  ranks.  I  had 
for  some  time  the  usual  run  of  an  actor's  life.  I 
played  in  various  country  theatres,  at  fairs  and 
in  barns  ;  sometimes  hard  pushed  ;  sometimes 
flush,  until  on  one  occasion  I  came  within  an 
ace  of  making  my  fortune,  and  becoming  one  of 
the  wonders  of  the  age. 

I  was  playing  the  part  of  Richard  the  Third 
in  a  country  barn,  and  absolutely  "  out-Herod- 
ing  Herod."  An  agent  of  one  of  the  great  Lon- 
don theatres  was  present.  He  was  on  the  look- 
out for  something  that  might  be  got  up  as  a 
PART  If.  27 


206  THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

prodigy.  The  theatre  it  seems  was  in  desperate 
condition — nothing  but  a  miracle  could  save  it. 
He  pitched  upon  me  for  that  miracle.  I  had  a 
remarkable  bluster  in  my  style,  and  swagger  in 
my  gait,  and  having  taken  to  drink  a  little 
during  my  troubles,  my  voice  was  somewhat 
cracked  ;  so  that  it  seemed  like  two  voices  run 
into  one.  The  thought  struck  the  agent  to  bring 
me  out  as  a  theatrical  wonder ;  as  the  restorer 
of  natural  and  legitimate  acting  ;  as  the  only  one 
who  could  understand  and  act  Shakspeare  right- 
ly. He  waited  upon  me  the  next  morning,  and 
opened  his  plan.  I  shrunk  from  it  with  becom- 
ing modesty  ;  for  well  as  I  thought  of  myself,  I 
felt  myself  unworthy  of  such  praise. 

"  'Sblood,  man  !"  said  he,  "  no  praise  at  all. 
You  don't  imagine  that  I  think  you  all  this.  I 
only  want  the  public  to  think  so.  Nothing  so 
easy  as  gulling  the  public  if  you  only  set  up  a 
prodigy.  You  need  not  try  to  act  well,  you  must 
only  act  furiously.  No  matter  what  you  do,  or 
how  you  act,  so  that  it  be  but  odd  and  strange, 
We  will  have  all  the  pit  packed,  and  the  news- 


tHE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  207 

papers  hired.  Whatever  you  do  different  from 
famous  actors,  it  shall  be  insisted  that  you  are 
right  and  they  were  wrong.  If  you  rant,  it  shall 
be  pure  passion ;  if  you  are  vulgar,  it  shall  be  a 
touch  of  nature.  Every  one  shall  be  prepared 
to  fall  into  raptures,  and  shout  and  yell,  at  cer- 
tain points  which  you  shall  make.  If  you  do 
but  escape  pelting  the  first  night,  your  fortune 
and  the  fortune  of  the  theatre  is  made." 

I  set  off  for  London,  therefore,  full  of  new 
hopes.  I  was  to  be  the  restorer  of  Shakspeare 
and  nature,  and  the  legitimate  drama;  my  very 
swagger  was  to  be  heroic,  arid  my  cracked  voice 
the  standard  of  elocution.  Alas,  sir !  my  usual 
luck  attended  me.  Before  I  arrived  at  the  me- 
tropolis, a  rival  wonder  had  appeared.  A  wo- 
man who  could  dance  the  slack  rope,  and  run  up 
a  cord  from  the  stage  to  the  gallery  with  fire 
works  all  round  her.  She  was  seized  on  by  the 
manager  with  avidity  ;  she  was  the  saving  of  the 
great  national  theatre  for  the  season.  Nothing 
was  talked  of  but  Madame  Saqui's  fire  works 
and  flame-coloured  pantaloons;  and  nature* 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

Shakspeare,  the  legitimate  drama,  and  poor  Pill- 
garlick  were  completely  left  in  the  lurch. 

However,  as  the  ma  nager  was  in  honour  bound 
to  provide  for  me  he  kept  his  word.  It  had  been 
a  turn  up  of  a  die  whether  I  should  be  Alexan- 
der the  Great  or  Alexander  the  coppersmith  :  the 
latter  carried  it.  I  could  not  be  put  at  the  head 
of  the  drama,  so  I  was  put  at  the  tail.  In  other 
words,  I  was  enrolled  among  the  number  of  what 
are  called  useful  men  ;  who,  let  me  tell  you,  are 
the  only  comfortable  actors  on  the  stage.  We 
are  safe  from  hisses  and  below  the  hope  of  ap- 
plause. We  fear  not  the  success  of  rivals,  nor 
dread  the  critic's  pen.  So  long  as  we  get  the 
words  of  our  parts,  and  they  are  not  often  many, 
it  is  all  we  care  for.  We  have  our  own  merri- 
ment, our  own  friends,  and  our  own  admirers ; 

* 

for  every  actor  has  his  friends  and  admirers,  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest.  The  first  rate  actor 
dines  with  the  noble  amateur,  and  entertains  a 
fashionable  table  with,  scraps  and  songs  and  the- 
atrical slip-slop.  The  secoad  rate  actors  have 
their  second  rate  friends  and  admirers,  with  whom 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  209 

they  likewise  spout  tragedy  and  talk  slip-slop; 
and  so  down  even  to  us;  who  have  our  friends 
and  admirers  among  spruce  clerks  and  aspiring 
apprentices,  who  treat  us  to  a  dinner  now  and 
then,  and  enjoy  at  tenth  hand  the  same  scraps, 
and  songs,  and  slip-slop,  that  have  been  served 
up  by  our  more  fortunate  brethren  at  the  tables 
of  the  great. 

I  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  theatrical  life, 
knew  what  true  pleasure  is-  I  have  known 
enough  of  notoriety  to  pity  the  poor  devils  who 
are  called  favourites  of  the  public.  I  would  ra- 
ther be  a  kitten  in  the  arms  of  a  spoiled  child, 
to  be  one  moment  petted  and  pampered,  and' 
the  next  moment  thumped  over  the  head  with 
the  spoon.  I  smile,  too,  to  see  our  leading  actors, 
fretting  themselves  with  envy  and  jealousy  about 
a  trumpery  renown,  questionable  in  its  quality 
and  uncertain  in  its  duration.  I  laugh,  too, 
though  of  course  in  my  sleeve,  at  the  bustle  and 
importance  and  trouble  and  perplexities  of  our 
manager,  who  is  harrassing  himself  to  death  in 
the  hopeless  effort  to  please  every  body. 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER. 

|  have  found  among  my  fellow  subalterns  two 
or  three  quondam  managers,  who,  like  myself, 
have  wielded  the  sceptres  of  country  theatres ; 
and  we  have  many  a  sly  joke  together  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  manager  and  the  public.  Some- 
times, too,  we  meet  like  deposed  and  exiled  kings, 
talk  over  the  events  of  our  respective  reigns ; 
moralize  over  a  tankard  of  ale,  and  laugh  at  the 
humbug  of  the  great  and  little  world  ;  which,  I 
take  it,  is  the  very  essence  of  practical  philosophy. 


Thus  end  the  anecdotes  of  Buckthorne  and 
his  friends.  A  few  mornings  after  our  hearing 
the  history  of  the  ex-manager,  he  bounced  into 
my  room  before  I  was  out  of  bed. 

"  Give  me  joy  1  Give  me  joy  !"  said  he,  rub^ 
bing  his  hands  with  the  utmost  glee,  "  my  great 
expectations  are  realized !" 

I  stared  at  him  with  a  look  of  wonder  and 
inquiry. 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.        211 

"  My  booby  cousin  is  dead  !"  cried  he,  "  may  he 
rest  in  peace !  He  nearly  broke  his  neck  in  a  fall 
from  his  horse  in  a  fox  chase.  By  good  luck  he 
lived  long  enough  to  make  his  will.  He  has 
made  me  his  heir,  partly  out  of  an  odd  feeling  of 
retributive  justice,  and  partly  because,  as  he  says, 
none  of  his  own  family  or  friends  knew  how  to 
enjoy  such  an  estate.  I'm  off  to  the  country  to 
take  possession.  I've  done  with  authorship — 
That  for  the  critics!"  said  he,  snapping  his  fin- 
gers. "  Come  down  to  Doubting  Castle  when  I 
get  settled,  and  egad  I'll  give  you  a  rouse."  So 
saying  he  shook  me  heartily  by  the  hand  and 
bounded  off  iu  high  spirits. 

A  long  time  elapsed  before  I  heard  from  him 
again.  Indeed,  it  was  but  a  short  time  since 
that  I  received  a  letter  written  in  the  happiest  of 
moods.  He  was  getting  the  estate  into  fine  order, 
every  thing  went  to  his  wishes,  and  what  was 
more,  he  was  married  to  Sacharissa:  who  it 
seems  had  always  entertained  an  ardent  though 
secret  attachment  for  him,  which  he  fortunately 
discovered  just  after  coming  to  his  estate. 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER; 

"Ifind,"saiclhe,  "you  are  a  little  given  to  the  silt 
of  authorship,  which  I  renounce.  If  the  anecdotes 
I  have  given  you  of  my  story  are  of  any  interest, 
you  may  make  use  of  them  ;  but  come  down  to 
Doubting  Castle  and  see  how  we  live,  and  I'll 
give  you  my  whole  London  life  over  a  social 
glass ;  and  a  rattling  history  it  shall  be  about  au- 
thors and  reviewers." 

If  ever  I  visit  Doubting  Castle,  and  get  the  his- 
tory he  promises,  the  public  shall  be  sure  to  hear 
of  it. 


, 


c  ,jm-    ^^ii 


" 


